


it'll last longer (take a picture)

by restless5oul



Category: Formula 1 RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst and Feels, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, M/M, Romance, Sexual Assault, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-05-14 11:28:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 61,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14768718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restless5oul/pseuds/restless5oul
Summary: he didn’t think it was extremely likely that he’d ever see him again, except from in the pages of a magazine, but he wished he’d taken a chance and asked for his number anyway.***your classic model/photographer au.





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

> me and @damsindistress have discussed something like this for so long. and after those shots of charles doing the amber lounge i thought it was about time that i finally wrote it.  
> expect ur regular dose of melodrama.

Mick was running late. And if there was one day in his life he shouldn’t be late. It was that day. He shoved a wad of notes into the taxi driver’s hand with a quick ‘thank you’, grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and half ran into ground floor of the multi-story car park.

It hadn’t exactly been his fault that he’d slept through his first three alarms, and then he’d missed the bus, or that he hadn’t been able to find his wallet, but he doubted any of those excuses would fly. He spotted the lift and saw the doors were just starting to close. Knowing that he had to get right to the top of the car park, and knowing he couldn’t wait until the lift came down again, or risk busting a lung taking the stairs, he shouted;

“Hold the lift!”

To his slight amazement, a hand came out to hold the doors and they slid open again, just so he could slip inside. The adrenaline that had carried him from his front door all the way into the lift drained out of him in a flash, and he found himself doubled over so he could catch his breath. He patted his pockets in a last minute bout of nerves, checking he had his phone and keys, before he straightened up.

“Which floor?”

Mick had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone in the lift. He looked and saw a boy about his age stood looking at him, his hand hovering over the buttons on the side of the wall.

“Just the top floor, thanks,” Mick smiled, trying to come across as grateful, considering he was probably holding up his day as well.

“Oh. Same as me then,” he said in an accent Mick couldn’t quite place, and he pressed just the one button. That made Mick glance at the boy a little more closely.

He wasn’t looking at Mick anymore, so he couldn’t see his face, but he took in his slightly scuffed, off-white shoes, jeans that were probably supposed to be artfully ripped, and the oversized hoodie that made him look as though he was drowning in the material. The most he could see of what he actually looked like was his messy dark hair.

“For the photoshoot?” Mick asked, sounding slightly surprised, maybe because he had made slightly more of an effort with his choice of clothes. Good impressions and all that.

“Uh, yeah,” the boy turned back to look at Mick, his expression now a little put off, maybe because of the hint of incredulity in Mick’s voice. Despite the affronted expression, Mick found himself thinking that he had a kind face, soft in some ways, despite the frown in his eyebrows, and the sharp line of his jaw. If he had to describe him, he probably would have called him pretty.

Ordinarily, he’d have tried to make more conversation, but he had already succeeded in offending him and he was feeling nervous, which wasn’t helpful when it came to him not putting his foot in his mouth. Instead he tapped his foot nervously as the old lift slowly made its way up to the top of the car park. The doors opened, with a discerning groan, to bright sunlight and a very busy car park. He let the other boy out first before stepping out after him, looking around for a familiar face who could point him in the right direction.

“Ah Charles! There you are,” someone called out, and an assistant emerged from the sea of people, taking the other boy by the arm and leading him away. Mick supposed that would be the last he saw of him. He was still watching the boy’s head of brown hair disappearing into the crowd when someone shouted;

“Mick!”

And he recognised the telling off he was about to get just from the tone of voice.

“I know! I know, I’m late,” he held up his hands and turned to see René stalking towards him, looking a little ruffled.

“Yeah you are,” he grunted, but ruffled Mick’s hair fondly all the same, “Come on, I need your help setting up.”

He led Mick through the crowd of people, and he quickly realised it wasn’t as busy up on the roof as he had originally thought, the wardrobe, makeup and hair had just had the smart idea of setting up near the lift so it was almost impossible to see anything else. Mick was quickly thrown in to helping René set up his lights and tripod, as he spoke with the people running the shoot. Mick actually had very little idea of what or who they were shooting, just that it had something to with a car, and that was why René had asked him if he’d like to help. Honestly, the fact that he was there at all, earning much needed money was because this gig was a favour done to him. It paid a pittance, but he was grateful. And that was why being late didn’t reflect very well on him.

That was also why Mick was trying his hardest to make sure everything was set up perfectly for when René returned. By the time he did Mick was sat on a stool polishing the various lens caps, which was perhaps overkill, but it couldn’t hurt to suck up a little.

“Okay kiddo, just do what I tell you and try not to get in the way,” he said, picking up the large camera off the table where Mick had put it, it looked far more expensive than the one he owned, and he watched with a hint of jealousy as René fitted one of the caps. He was about to ask a question about it when he was distracted by people fussing about behind him, getting the set ready.

What caught his eye was the model being shepherded onto the set. Of course he had assumed the shoot was not going to be just of the car, mainly from the presence of hair and makeup, but he didn’t expect the man stood next to the car, a shining red Alfa Romeo, to be the boy he’d gotten the lift up with. It hadn’t even occurred to Mick that he might be a model, he had assumed that he’d just be a part of the crew like him. Not that he wasn’t gorgeous, he’d just been expecting something else.

He knew he was staring at him, stood slightly awkwardly beside the car as someone brushed his hair out of his forehead, because René turned to see what he was looking at, and promptly forgot about Mick as he went to introduce himself to the boy. Charles he thought he remembered his name was.

Now he was dressed up, his hair brushed, he looked older than fifteen, though there was still something about him that looked vaguely out of place, like he didn’t quite believe he belonged there. He seemed to relax a little as René spoke to him, gesturing enthusiastically, he nodded and said very little. Mick didn’t exactly have a wealth of experience in this world, but he didn’t exude the arrogance and ego he had been told to expect.

He didn’t realise he’d been staring until he saw René turn around and wave him over, which he knew meant it was time to start working. His job was mostly just watching, adjusting the height of the lighting rigs, holding reflectors discs if René needed them, and fetching him fresh memory cards. Like René had said, as long as he kept out the way, he was allowed to just watch and learn.

As soon as the camera was on, despite his previous reservations, Mick understood that there could be no doubt that Charles was in fact a model. From how young he looked and the prompting he needed from René, Mick guessed he couldn’t be very experienced, but he knew exactly what to do. How to position his body and angle his face and where to look. Mick didn’t know much about it, but he knew from the shots coming up on the monitor that he wasn’t just an ordinary pretty face. He didn’t think anyone had the right to look so good while miming opening a car door.

When they broke for lunch Mick was immediately pulled aside by René to go through the film they had so far while the set was changed around for the afternoon. He let him impart as much wisdom on him as he could physically soak up, before he was pushed in the direction of the lunch table because his stomach was rumbling so loud. In his rush to get ready that morning he had neglected to eat breakfast. He picked up a sandwich from the table and a bottle of water, and glanced around to see if there was somewhere slightly quieter he could perch to eat it.

He saw Charles leaning against the small concrete wall at the far side of the car park, looking over the edge at the city of Milan that sprawled out beneath them. Mick was about eighty per cent sure that it wasn’t expected of him to join him, but he looked lonely.

“Is it okay if I join you?” he asked, already placing his paper plate down on the wall.

Charles glanced at him, his plastic fork hovering in the air above his own plate. Up close and without looking through the lens of the camera it was easier to see how much they’d made him up – a fine layer of foundation covering almost his entire face, and his dark eyebrows expertly filled in. But Mick thought he looked more artificial than he had before.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” he said, shuffling across a bit so Mick had more room before he returned to his own lunch, which he regarded rather despondently. The wilted looking salad did look rather sad.

“Really interesting lunch you’ve got there,” Mick chuckled, and he got a wry smile out of Charles.

“Yeah. Well, it’s free I shouldn’t complain,” he shrugged, shoving a forkful into his mouth.

“You can have half of my sandwich if you like?” Mick offered immediately. Not because he was trying to make a pass at him, because there would have been better and far smoother ways to do that. But just because his manners had kicked in, and he felt bad for him.

“Oh no I couldn’t,” Charles said, shaking his head.

“Nah it’s fine. It’s huge anyway.”

Mick broke the baguette in half and put one half down on Charles’ plate before he could refuse. Once it was there he put down his fork and picked it up so he could take a bite. And he looked much happier once he did.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling genuinely now.

“You could have asked for some real food you know, there’s a table full of it.”

“I guess. But this is what I got given. And I’m only here because Alfa’s marketing director is a family friend, so I don’t want to seem ungrateful.”

Mick thought that explained rather a few things.

“So this is your first job?”

“Not my first ever, but my first proper one, yeah. I’ve never done something this big before,” he interrupted himself with a little laugh, “Not that this is very big. But you know, have to start somewhere.”

“I feel you, I’m only here because René asked me along as his assistant. This is all new to me too,” Mick shrugged, popping the last of his sandwich in his mouth.

“You’re not a photographer?”

“Well I am. Sort of. I don’t make much from it at the moment, so I have to do other things as well.”

“But you’d like to be?”

“Yeah, yeah I would,” Mick nodded. Then it occurred to him that Charles didn’t even know his name, “I’m Mick by the way.”

He held out his hand for Charles to take.

“Charles Leclerc.”

“Nice to meet you.”

Charles nodded and looked like he was about to say something else, but someone called his name and he turned round to see a makeup artist aggressively gesticulating that he had to come over.

“Sorry, I’ve got to…” he pointed over his shoulder, “Thank you for the sandwich though.”

“No problem.”

Mick watched him leave before he picked up their plates and dumped them in the bin, returning back to René before they started shooting again.

He half hoped he would get a chance to speak to Charles again before they finished. But by the time Mick had helped put all the equipment away and got his debrief from René, he was long gone. He didn’t think it was extremely likely that he’d ever see him again, except from in the pages of a magazine, but he wished he’d taken a chance and asked for his number anyway.


	2. ii.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter, they really mean a lot.  
> this chapter is a little shorter than the last, but i hope you enjoy it regardless.

Mick was right, sort of. The next chance he got a proper glimpse of Charles Leclerc’s face was when René sent him through the film of the shoot they had done. Telling him he could add it to his portfolio if he liked, which was rather generous of him, considering Mick felt like he had done very little. He flicked through the photos on his laptop, trying to pick out his favourites, but at the same time trying hard not to stare at Charles’ face for too long. But that was more difficult than it sounded. He had the kind of face that demanded you look at it, that drew you in effortlessly. Mick wanted to kick himself when the word ‘magnetic’ sprung to mind.

Technically, this wasn’t the first time Mick had seen Charles again in some capacity. Just the first occasion he was willing to admit to. Once he’d gotten home from the shoot he hadn’t waited long before he typed Charles’ name into Instagram. He spent a considerable amount of time looking at his account, with a modest few thousand followers, most of the pictures were ones of Charles with friends and family, or different versions of what Mick had to assume was the view from his apartment window.

He had hesitated for a second before hitting follow. He guessed their brief conversation over lunch had earned him that right. And he tried not to look too pleased with himself when he got a notification a few hours later that Charles had followed him back. It must have shown on his face, because his roommate Maxi had grabbed his phone out of his hand to see who was making him smile like that. And Mick had to explain that this was one thing that really wasn’t going to go anywhere.

Their relationship was strictly confined to Mick pretending he wasn’t paying close attention to every update and post, gleaming way too much information from them, and the one time Charles had commented on one of Mick’s photos to tell him that he thought it looked good. Sadly, it had not been a photo of himself, but some old, suitably artsy picture of his sister sat on a beach from the summer before.

It was distracting the way Charles played on his mind. But Mick was busy enough that it didn’t drive him crazy. Between his full time job at a bar which allowed him to pay rent, and the rest of his time spent picking up any job where he could actually get paid for taking photos. He knew he just needed to keep plugging at it until he caught a break. But it felt like it was never coming.

When the Alfa shoot had been published, Mick had appreciated the pay cheque he’d received. Enough to complete the sum he’d been trying to save to buy the new camera he desperately needed. What he had noticed was that Charles’ follower count shot up (not that he was paying undue attention to it) and he saw he was spending a lot more time travelling around Europe for different jobs. He looked busy, but Mick was happy for him (in, what he would swear was, a totally non-creepy way).

Apparently his slight obsession had become something of a point of interest amongst his small circle of friends. He was lying on his stomach, having fun testing out his new camera, when Callum, who was stood on their tiny balcony looking slightly bored, asked him about it. He’d wanted to practice photographing people, but Callum was an unwilling test subject.

“So who is this guy Maxi says you’ve been thirsting over recently?” he asked, smirking at Mick as Maxi laughed from behind him.

Mick pulled the camera away from his face so he could look at the last shot he’d got, ignoring Callum from the time being. He shuffled backwards a little, lifting the camera to his face again so he could look through the viewfinder.

“Lean forward a bit more,” he said, waiting for Callum to follow his instructions.

“Why don’t you ask this guy to model for you? I stalked him online, and he looks like he knows what he’s doing way more than me,” Callum asked, raising an eyebrow as Mick snapped a picture.

“Because I don’t really know him?” Mick said, sitting up when he sensed Callum wasn’t going to drop this. He crossed his legs and placed his camera down on the floor beside him very carefully.

“That’s not how Maxi made it sound.”

Mick turned to glare at his roommate, who was grinning as he pretended to be absorbed in the essay he was writing. To his credit, he didn’t react when Mick flipped him off.

“We shared a sandwich and I stood and watched René take pictures of him. I’d hardly say I know him at all.”

“But you think he’s hot,” Callum pointed out.

“Well yeah,” there was no real point in trying to deny it, besides anyone could have seen he was an exceptionally attractive individual, “But he’s also way out of my league.”

“Maybe you could seduce him,” Callum laughed, “Offer to do a nude photo-shoot or something to lure him in, and then you can pounce.”

Mick just wrinkled his nose distastefully.

“Don’t make me sound so sleazy.”

“What? You’ve done it before.”

“That was _one_ time!”

“Still counts.”

Once when he’d been more drunk than he ought to have been, Mick had told some girl in a bar how pretty she was, and how he could photograph her if she liked. He actually thought it might have worked, had he not vomited all over her shoes the moment they stepped foot inside his flat. She had made an impressively speedy exit after that. If that hadn’t been enough to convince him he probably shouldn’t have done it, then the amount of ridicule he’d faced when he’d told his friends what he’d done had made it clear.

“Besides, he’s not a piece of meat for me to chase after.”

“Pfft,” Callum waved his hand, “Someone that hot must be used to it.”

Maxi finally perked his head up to join the conversation when Callum said that.

“You think he’s hot too?”

“Have you actually seen this guy?” Callum asked and Maxi shook his head. He gestured at Mick, “Show him.”

Reluctantly, Mick scooted over and shoved his phone in Maxi’s face. Maxi studied the photos for a second before he nodded approvingly.

“Yeah, he’s pretty good looking,” he conceded, “Is he famous?”

“I don’t know. Maybe a little,” Mick shrugged.

“Okay yeah. Then you have no chance.”

“Hey!” Mick shoved Maxi’s knee as he laughed at him. Though really, he had to agree. The more time went on, and the more Charles’ profile rose, the further out of reach he got. Not that Mick was actually considering trying anything. Maybe it was better that his crush remained as unattainable and hopeless as it had always been.

He turned back to Callum and picked up his camera again.

“Do ten more minutes for me and I’ll pay for the first round of drinks tonight,” Mick offered, clutching his camera to his chest and arranging his features into what he hoped was a suitably pleading expression. He knew Callum’s empty student pockets couldn’t deny that offer.

“ _Fine_ ,” Callum said with an exaggerated sigh, slumping back against the balcony railing as Mick grinned victoriously.

 

***

As the months went by, thoughts of Charles invaded Mick’s mind far less frequently. He had a life to get on with after all. Sure he couldn’t help but look every time he posted something new on his Instagram, but Mick was well aware that he was one of several thousand people all thinking the same thing when they looked at them. Mick was privately glad that Charles didn’t seem to have lost any of the attractive naivety and innocence he’d had at the shoot all those months ago. But then again, that could have been all part of a carefully cultivated act. Not that Mick was cynical or anything.

He’d spent more and more of his time working for René, who seemed to like the idea of training Mick up to be his protégé. And it was a useful learning experience. He still had to keep his full time job, but he’d gotten a few more jobs on his own. Including taking photos for some rather terrible band who’d played at the bar he worked in one night. But Mick didn’t care how crap the music was so long as he was getting paid.

What he really wanted was to be able to quit his job, and stop polishing glasses for a living. René had set him up with several interviews through his contacts, but all of them had come to very little. So far, he had to remind himself. He wasn’t looking for anything fancy, he didn’t even particularly care if it was something he wasn’t very passionate about at this point. He just wanted to get to a place where he wasn’t asking Maxi for bus fare every other week.

As was often the case with jobs René asked him to help with, the call came rather last minute. This one waking Mick up at around eight in the morning, after he’d stayed up until around three am, helping Callum learn his lines for some university production of some Shakespeare play he’d never heard of. No doubt it would be suitably amateur, and no doubt he’d be dragged along by Maxi to go watch it on opening night.

“Hello?” he said as he put the phone to his ear, unable to hide how tired he sounded when he spoke. He barely bothered to move from the position he was lying in – on his stomach, with his face pushed into the pillow.

“Mick? Are you free today?” he recognised René’s voice instantly and lifted his head a little so his words wouldn’t get muffled by the pillow. He propped himself up onto his elbows as he rubbed his eyes, trying to wake himself up.

“Yeah, I don’t have work until this evening. D’ya need help?” he asked, hoping René didn’t need him for at least a couple of hours, that would give him enough time to shower and throw at least two espressos down the back of his throat. All before he made the long trek across the city to René’s studio.

“Yep. Do you think you could get here by nine?”

Mick fought to suppress a groan. He wasn’t going to refuse, he just had to hope that René didn’t mind him showing up looking like a homeless person.

“Yeah I can do. That’s an early one,” he was already in the process of rolling over, trying to work up the strength to haul himself out of bed.

“Unfortunately. But I think you’ll want to be here for this one,” René said, and there was that teasing tone in his voice that meant he had something good in store.

“Oh?” Mick raised an eyebrow, his interest suddenly piqued.

“Yeah. Charles Leclerc has asked us to do his new headshots.”


	3. iii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i lowkey don't know how i wrote this one so quickly haha.  
> enjoy!

If there was one day that Mick desperately needed longer than half an hour to get ready, it was that day. Not that he was trying to impress Charles, he just didn’t want him thinking that he usually looked like he got dressed in the dark and didn’t shower regularly.

As soon as he’d hung up the phone, he’d rolled out of bed and headed straight into the bathroom so he could shower, he brushed his teeth while he was in there, deciding to forgo breakfast. He had just enough time to shove on the pair of jeans he’d been wearing the day before – the rest sat in his overflowing laundry basket – and a t-shirt that wasn’t stained with alcohol from work. He desperately didn’t want to be late. So he grabbed his phone, keys and wallet and half sprinted to the bus stop. Something he instantly regretted when he realised it was rather hot and humid outside and now he was sweaty and his t-shirt was sticking to his back. His damp hair dripping down the back of his neck didn’t help matters either.

He was oddly nervous the entire bus ride to René’s studio. If he was being honest, there was nothing odd about it. The thought of seeing Charles again filled him with an apprehension he hadn’t felt in years. Not that he expected anything to happen. He wasn’t even sure that Charles would remember him. But that thought was too embarrassing and depressing to even bear thinking about.

René seemed pleasantly surprised by his punctuality when he arrived, but he just pointed him in the direction of the backdrop and tripod he was setting up, and Mick knew what he had to do. But he didn’t do so without making a comment on the fact that Mick could have bothered to brush his hair before he left his house, leading him to attempt to flatten it down self-consciously as he headed over to the other side of the studio. He was grateful for something fairly remedial and simple to do, it was easy to focus on, the familiarity taking his mind off the weird flip-flopping his stomach was doing.

He was so focused on making sure the tripod was at the correct height that he didn’t realise René had left the room to answer the door. When he turned round to ask if there was anything else he could do René was returning, Charles walking alongside him, smiling. He in conversation with René, his face turned away from Mick, so he allowed himself a few seconds to look. He half expected that he wouldn’t be as he remembered, that somehow he’d made him up to be more beautiful in his mind while he’d been stupidly pining all those months ago. But if anything his imagination didn’t do him justice. He looked a little more confident, more self-assured than he had when he’d first met him; he stood a little straighter, and held his head a little higher. He had his hands clasped in front of him, rather than folded across his chest. Mick thought he looked like he’d been working out more as he watched the muscles in his arms tense as he gestured-

_Why was he staring at his arms?_

Mick shook his head rapidly, tuning into the world going on around him, rather than the one inside his head.

“Sorry I called so last minute, the new agency asked me to get some headshots done and I was in Milan and your name was the first I thought of,” Charles was saying, and Mick watched as René’s face glowed at his words. Glad he was the one who had popped into his head first.

“It’s no problem at all,” René said beaming, and he looked towards Mick who was still stood, a little awkwardly, by the camera, “This is Mick, he’ll just be helping out today.”

Charles looked at him, and the lack of immediate recognition on his face had Mick’s heart sinking. Despite all his internal pep talks about not getting his hopes up, he’d hoped Charles would at least remember him.

Not letting his feelings show, Mick walked over to where René and Charles were stood and stuck out his hand for Charles to take. He had a ‘ _pleased to meet you_ ’ right on the tip of his tongue but Charles beat him to speaking first.

“I remember you, you gave me a sandwich,” he said, smiling wider, the hint of a laugh playing on his words. Mick laughed despite himself, half in relief that he wasn’t as forgettable as he’d feared for a second.

“Yeah that’s right.”

Charles held his gaze for a second, and Mick saw there was something guarded about his face that hadn’t been there before. It hadn’t shown in any of the photos he’d seen, but in the flesh it was quite plain to see. His expression was inscrutable, and Mick would have given anything to know what he was thinking.

Maybe he looked for a beat too long, because René lightly pulled his arm and led them both over to the camera. Mick knew he couldn’t afford to be distracted now he had his actual job to do. And with some effort he pushed all those thoughts from his mind, and instead schooled himself to listen and do anything René asked of him.

He knew it wouldn’t take especially long to get the headshots. Unless Charles was the type to make them retake the photos over and over again, never satisfied with the way they looked. But he didn’t strike Mick as the kind of person to do that. Once he was in front of the camera, staring straight down the lens, there was nothing restrained or reserved about the look on Charles’ face. Mick felt like he was staring at something more than skin deep when he looked back at the photos. He looked from the shots on the monitor up at Charles, who was listening to what René was saying, and decided that there was still something vulnerable about him, it was just well hidden. Unlike most, Charles was doing all his acting away from the camera, and being honest in front of it. He supposed that was what made him so special to all the brands and publications that were suddenly catching wind of his name, and clamouring to ask him to work with them.

He watched René step back a little, trying to capture Charles’ profile but he frowned, looking pensive. Mick could sense he was going to say his name before he did.

“Mick?”

“Mm?” he said, straightening up, ready to do whatever was about to be asked of him. René walked over to him and showed him the first test shot of his profile he’d taken.

“Could you fix his hair?” he asked, and Mick’s head shot up a little alarmed. He could see immediately what he meant, where Charles’ hair wasn’t quite sitting right over his forehead from the new angle. But he was scarcely qualified to go over there and shove his hands in his face like he knew what he was doing. And knowing himself, if he got that close he was bound to do something stupid. But there was no refusing René and he was supposed to be here to help after all. He caught sight of the expression on René’s face, and he wondered whether he was doing this on purpose.

He sighed quietly, trying hard to look like he was perfectly composed, like he did this all the time. Charles had obviously heard what René had asked him to do, and he looked unfazed. He was used to people fussing over him all the time after all.

Mick noticed that Charles was holding his breath as he brushed the rouge strands of hair out of his forehead and away from his eyebrows. He found himself doing the same thing. Charles didn’t look at him until he had stepped away, and Mick tried not to look so affected in the few seconds they made brief eye contact. Mick got out of the way pretty quickly and didn’t look back at Charles until he was safely on the other side of the camera.

They got the whole thing wrapped up in about half an hour. While René went to get the photos printed, Mick offered to deal with the payment. He sat at the desk, logging the appointment on the computer and telling Charles how much he owed. Though he had nothing to say that wasn’t incredibly awkward, Mick forced himself to make conversation, because like the first time, there was no guarantee that this wouldn’t be the last.

“So, you got signed with a new agency?” he asked while he waited for Charles’ receipt to print. He looked surprised Mick had said anything, but his face relaxed into a smile.

“Yeah. In Paris, I’m moving there next month,” he said.

“Are you living in Milan at the moment?”

“No, no. I’m just here for work. I actually live in Monaco, that’s where my family’s from.”

Mick raised his eyebrows, that explained the accent. But he had imagined something a little more lowkey. Charles seemed to sense where his mind had gone.

“I know it sounds impressive, but it’s not half as fancy as people imagine. It’s the best place on earth, don’t get me wrong. But I’m not some secret billionaire or anything.”

Mick laughed, placing his receipt on the counter. He was about to ask another question when Charles cut across him.

“Are you from here originally?”

Mick shook his head.

“No, I was born in Switzerland. I just moved here for university, I ended up dropping out after the first three months,” he laughed, a little bitterly, still remembering the shouting matches he’d had to endure when he’d told his parents he was packing it in, “I decided to stay though. I like it here.”

“Did you drop it to do photography instead?”

“Sort of. That was the plan at least. Still working on it though,” he shrugged, feeling the usual embarrassment he did when he had to admit that even after a year of trying to pursue this, he was still pretty much where he started.

“Well, everyone gets their break at different times. Hell, if I can get mine you can get yours.”

Mick blushed. He didn’t know why, and it wasn’t like him. But he could feel his cheeks heating up anyway.

“I’ll keep an eye out for your name,” Charles said, just as René returned with his printed headshots. Charles tucked them away in the black folder he’d brought with him and thanked them both.

Mick stood to shake his hand again, wishing their conversation could have gone on a little while longer.

“Good luck with the move,” he said, and Charles broke out into a smaller, more genuine smile.

“Thanks Mick.”

 _God_ , he could have listened to him say his name all day.

He watched him leave, feeling a little despondent. But he had to think. If fate could be kind enough to push them together a second time. Then why not a third?


	4. iv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was a bit of a wait with this one, but i hope it was worth it because this one is v long haha. enjoy!

A couple months later, and Mick actually had a proper job. Like a “paid on an annual salary, with his own desk and a dental care plan” kind of job. He didn’t know if he’d quite call it his big break, but it was something. Working at a fashion magazine wouldn’t have been his first choice, mainly because he knew next to nothing about fashion, but it helped that he was generally told what to take pictures of. So it didn’t matter that he couldn’t tell the difference between chiffon and tulle. He was getting paid to take photos for a living, so he was happy.

He still lived in his tiny apartment with Maxi, and he still worked for René on weekends. But the money was enough that he could quit his job at the bar, and he only had to take on extra jobs when he really needed the money. Like the time they invited some friends over, forgetting that their apartment couldn’t really fit more than four people. The end result had been a broken bathroom sink and some walls that needed repainting. Mick had taken some promotional pictures for the tiny theatre down the street to cover the cost.

He was still the new guy at his work, so he often got lumped with the jobs no one else wanted to do. But he didn’t mind. He had no illusions of grandeur, and he didn’t think himself above sitting the cold and the rain for hours while he was ordered about by his bosses.

After seeing Charles for the second time, his hopeless pining had been turned into a more laidback approach to the whole thing. He would have liked something to happen, but it all seemed a little impossible. So he was very much of the opinion that if something was going to happen, it would, in its own way.

That hadn’t stopped his friends absolutely berating him for not asking for his number when he’d gotten home from the short photo-shoot.

“I’m starting to think you’re actually crazy,” Callum had said, shaking his head like he was at a complete loss of what to do with Mick.

“It’s not like anything could ever happen between us,” Mick shrugged, and Callum made an exasperated noise.

“Wouldn’t have hurt to try,” Maxi added, unhelpfully in Mick’s opinion.

Mick had just waved them off. They dropped the subject pretty quickly after that, especially since Mick was making a conscious effort not to do anymore of his social media stalking. He wanted to just focus on his work, and being hung up on some unattainable guy wasn’t helpful.

When September rolled around and fashion week hit Milan, Mick didn’t think he’d ever been busier in his life. Apparently attending the shows wasn’t the job everyone was clamouring to do. So Mick picked up as many as he could, provided he was paid the overtime. Before he went to the first, he couldn’t see why everyone else was so reluctant to do them.

Until he found himself stood at the end of the runway, jostling for position with about twenty other people all trying to get the same shot as him. It was hot, and uncomfortable, and nearly impossible to hold the camera steady enough to get a photo that looked halfway decent. Now he understood why everyone had looked at him as though he was crazy. And now he was not looking forward to the ten other shows he’d signed himself up to do.

That week he found himself living off about four hours sleep a night; getting home as late as he was and getting up at his usual time for work. And Mick was sure he was consuming more caffeine than was safe for any normal human being in order to cope. Maxi had taken to making him breakfast every morning, clearly taking pity on Mick and his incessant yawning. He made a mental note to thank him properly when his week was over.

Still, he had to admit it had been a useful learning experience, and his enthusiasm about signing up for all the extra hours meant he was getting some nice exposure. But he knew what he wouldn’t be doing next time fashion week came around.

He was at his final show of the week, slightly relieved that the whole experience would be over soon. Though he had gotten rather good at taking pictures with his elbows out, ready to fend off anyone who encroached on the perfect spot he had got there early to secure. Once the light came down and the show started, he could scarcely hear the booming music that was playing over the sound of shutters that became the new soundtrack to the show he was watching. He knew what kind of shots he had to get; full body preferably, to show off the outfit to please the designers, and only close-ups if the model was some name that their readers were actually invested in. Simple enough.

They were five minutes into the show, and Mick was completely in the zone, completely focused on the job at hand when someone walked out onto the catwalk that made him falter, the camera dropping from his face slightly, and he could feel his mouth fall open a little.

Charles Leclerc was walking directly towards him, obviously no clue that Mick was there, just one of the many faces he no doubt couldn’t see because of the bright lights. Mick recovered quickly, bringing the camera back up to his face and snapping pictures. But he couldn’t ignore how hard his heart was beating. Especially when Charles stopped just a few feet from him, looking out impassively into the middle distance. Mick could have sworn that he just about stopped breathing, half from the surprise and shock of seeing him there, but also just from the sheer proximity.

He couldn’t resist tilting the lens up higher to get a shot of Charles’ face, capturing the sharp angle of his jaw and the way his lips tilted upwards slightly in an imperceptible smile. Mick allowed himself a second to watch him walk away, knowing that he had to move onto photographing the next model now that he was gone.

It shouldn’t have been so surprising that Charles was there. He was a model after all. Just the show was for a rather big name fashion house, and while Mick knew he was doing well, he didn’t quite realise he was hitting these heights already. But still he found he couldn’t believe it, even when he came out a second time, and when he saw him walking amongst all the other models in the finale.

Part of his blasé attitude towards Charles and his painfully obvious crush on him had come about because of the fact that he was ninety percent certain he was never going to see him again. But here he was, again. And Mick had let him go twice already without even trying to see if something could come of things. Could he really do it a third time?

He hadn’t the faintest clue if Charles was interested, and he knew he was risking some serious embarrassment if he went for this. But what did he really have to lose?

As he watched his fellow photographers packed up their things and started heading for the exits. The show was over now, and most of them were ready to head home to bed. He knew from experience that they had no desire to hang around the guests who were mingling, or go to any swanky after parties. Not that they were ever invited. They were members of the press, and Mick had come to learn that there was nothing celebrities hated more than the press.

Remembering this, Mick took off his press pass and tucked it into his back pocket, and put his camera away in his bag. The bag was quite obviously a camera bag, but he was just hoping people would overlook that fact. He wasn’t at all dressed like he had just attended a haute couture fashion show, and he stuck out like a sore thumb. But he just ignored the odd glances as he made his way through the crowd towards the backstage area of the room. He didn’t actually have a plan of what he was going to do once he got there, but he figured he’d just wing it.

There was a woman with a clipboard stood, blocking the path into the actual backstage area where the models would get ready. Mick was half tempted to just sneak past her. But she spotted him a mile away, and once he was within six feet of her, she held out her hand in the universal gesture that meant he had to stop.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she said, raising a disdainful eyebrow at him, looking him up and down. Mick didn’t need her judging expression to know that he looked terrible.

“I, uh, I was gonna surprise my friend, Charles, Charles Leclerc?” he said. It was a terrible half lie, and she still regarded him with that same expression as he spoke. She seemed to be debating whether to call security on him, or whether to check if he was being honest.

There was also the problem that she might go get Charles, and it would become apparent that they weren’t friends at all, barely even acquaintances. And all he’d wanted to do was ask him out on some date. Which was actually more than a little weird now he thought about it.

“…Okay one minute. I’ll go get him.”

She clearly had somehow decided that he wasn’t a crazy stalker, and walked off to, presumably, go find Charles. Now Mick had got over the task of actually getting to him, the nerves kicked in about having to ask Charles out. And the inevitable rejection that he was sure would come with it.

The woman reappeared, Charles walking a few paces behind him, looking a little confused. Mick knew he hadn’t seen him yet, and he could feel his heart rate pick up as he waited for the moment where Mick realised who it was who was waiting for him. He knew he’d be surprised. But he wondered if he’d be disappointed. God, what if he was in a relationship now. But there was little point in panicking when he Charles was about ten feet away from him.

When Charles saw him, stood rocking on the balls of his feet, he started, his eyes widening. Mick was surprised when he stuttered, his feet scuffing the floor as he faltered for a second. He recovered quickly and a wide grin broke out across his face.

“Mick,” he said once he was close enough. Mick didn’t expect him to be so pleased to see him, but it made him feel a little dizzy to see him smile at him like that.

“Hey,” he said, grinning at him.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well I was working, but I didn’t know you’d be here. When I saw you I thought I’d just take a chance, and see if you wanted to go for dinner,” he spoke quickly, in case he lost his nerve halfway through and didn’t manage to ask what he was dying to. He had his hands clasped tight behind his back, and he wouldn’t admit it, but his fingers were crossed.

He watched Charles’ reaction carefully, how he bit his lip and his cheeks turned a light pink colour, even beneath the makeup that hadn’t been taken off his face yet. There was no awkwardness or curling of his lip, which Mick took as a good sign. But he wouldn’t uncross his fingers until he heard an answer straight from Charles’ mouth.

“Uh, y-yeah. Yes, I’d love to,” he sounded like he was restraining himself a little, smiling slightly less than he had been when he’d been caught off guard by Mick being there, “Now?”

“Yeah! If you don’t have plans or anything,” Mick said feeling the tension flood out of him. Charles wanted to go for dinner with him. Charles was happy to see him. This was actually happening.

“No I don’t. I need to get changed and stuff. If you don’t mind waiting, I’ll only be ten minutes or so.”

“That’s fine, I’ll wait.”

“Great,” Charles said, and he stood there for a second before he seemed to remember that he had to actually move to go put his own clothes on. It just made Mick smile to see Charles lose the composure he seemed to work so hard to maintain, if only for a second. He looked more like the boy he’d seen shuffling around in the car park lift all those months ago.

Mick sat on one of the chairs still out for the audience for the show, flicking through the shots on his camera, deciding which ones he would send to his editor to use, and deleting those which had clearly been taken in the moments he’d received an elbow to the side. He was so focused on scrutinising his film that he didn’t even notice Charles walking over to him.

“Ready?” he said, making Mick jump as he looked up to see him stood a foot from him, unsubtly craning over his shoulder to see the pictures on his camera. He looked a lot more like himself in those ripped jeans and shoes which had obviously been white at some point. There had obviously been some attempt to take the makeup off his face, but he could still see a smudge of eyeliner beneath one eye and there was something on his cheekbones that kept catching the light. Mick knew he was staring, but it was difficult not to.

“Yeah, yeah I’m ready,” he said, turning off his camera and putting it back in his bag before he stood up.

“They said it’d be better if I went out the back, so do you wanna…?” he said, pointing over his shoulder, back the way he’d came.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He let Charles lead the way, through the now empty backstage area. It looked a little like a bomb had gone off in there, with chairs, mirrors and stray shoes everywhere, and racks of clothes that cost more than Mick’s monthly rent. He led Mick out a fire exit and into a crowd of bright flashing lights.

It took Mick a second to realise what the hell was going on. It was a wall of noise, and for a second he got disorientated by the camera flashes going off and he stopped and held a hand up to his face. Every show he’d been to thus far he had seen the crowd of paparazzi waiting outside, trying to get a shot of something interesting, something that would shift gossip magazines. He hadn’t even thought that they might be there.

As he blinked rapidly, trying to regain his sense of sight he felt someone wrap a hand around his arm. He realised it was Charles leading him across the pavement and towards a taxi waiting on the side of the road. He opened the door and gently pushed Mick inside.

“Fucking hell,” Mick laughed, rubbing his eyes as Charles shut the door and the cameras turned away to focus on whoever else was coming out of the door.

“Not used to be on the other side of the camera?” Charles asked as he did up his seatbelt.

“Not really. Is it always like that?” he asked, looking at Charles and just seeing a lot of bright spots every time he blinked.

“No, God no. It’s just because it’s fashion week. Normally they wouldn’t bother, they have no idea who I am,” Charles said, leaning forward to give instructions to the driver, who was yet to pull away.

“Did you have a place in mind for dinner?” Charles asked as the car started to drive away. Mick hadn’t actually got that far in his planning. Not that he had planned any of this at all. It was late, way past eleven, so there wasn’t exactly a long list of places that were still open. But Mick had an idea.

He leaned forward to tell the taxi driver to drop them off just outside the university he used to attend. The cafes and restaurants around there tended to stay open later to cater to the student population, and Mick knew most of them. He immediately led Charles to his favourite, it was small and pretty basic, but it was cheap and the staff knew him from the amount of times he would go there with his friends.

When he led Charles inside he had a moment where he wondered if this wasn’t as fancy as he was used to now. But he didn’t seem at all phased by it, and there wasn’t a hint of arrogance on his face. There was also the fact that he was still wearing the same clothes that he was the first time Mick met him. He didn’t think his recent success had changed him much.

“Mick!” the waiter greeted him with a wide smile, shaking his head, “Table for two?”

“Yep,” Mick nodded, and they found themselves at a table in the corner, next to the window so they could see the street outside. It was still relatively busy, despite the late hour, but Mick didn’t mind so long as Charles didn’t.

“Do you come here often?” Charles asked, smiling as he looked around.

“Yeah,” Mick laughed, “The food is good and it’s open late. It’s helpful that it’s pretty cheap too.”

They ordered a pizza to share and fell into easy conversation. Even Mick was surprised by how easy it was, happy, but surprised. Charles told him about what he’d been doing since they’d last seen each other, and that his agent had told him that this fashion week could be the making of him. Mostly he asked Mick about his new job and what he was doing. And it was easy to get Mick talking about his ambitions and dreams, and Charles seemed good at drawing it out of him.

“Actually, I can show you the photos I took of you today if you like?” he said, lifting up his bag off the floor.

“Yeah sure,” Charles nodded, putting down the slice of pizza he had in his hand. He wiped his hands on his napkin before he allowed Mick to pass the camera to him.

He regarded the photos quite neutrally, like it wasn’t actually himself he was looking at. There was a hint of self consciousness, but Mick got the impression he was studying it, rather than critiquing himself. He showed Charles the close up he’d taken when he was stood at the end of the runway.

“You’re really good,” Charles said, looking up at Mick, smiling at him.

“Thanks,” he grinned unashamedly at the compliment, “You make it easy though. It’s like you don’t know how to take a bad picture.”

There was a second where Charles blushed and smiled, but he quickly schooled his face into a more neutral expression, and he sat back a little, giving the camera back to Mick. He didn’t think he’d said anything particularly wrong, but everything about Charles had closed off all of a sudden. His guard was up and he looked cold, not warm and open like he had been just moments ago. Maybe Mick had misread all of the signs he thought he’d seen from Charles.

“Mick, can I ask you a question?” he said, and Mick thought he was about to find out whether he had gotten it all wrong.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Are you just doing all this because you want to sleep with me?”

Charles’ jaw was clenched but his eyes were asking Mick to prove his suspiscions wrong. He got the impression he wasn’t asking Mick whether he was attracted to him. But whether this was all about just getting him into bed, like he was some prize to be won.

Mick shook his head rapidly.

“I’m not going to lie and say I don’t think you’re stupidly gorgeous. But I do really like you, I want to get to know you. And I’m not just saying that.”

Charles exhaled and Mick realised he’d been holding his breath as he waited for his answer.

“Sorry, it’s just-,” he started, but then seemed to change his mind, smiling to himself a little ruefully.

“What? What is it?” Mick asked, not wanting to see that guard of Charles’ go up again.

“People say those things a lot, you know, that I’m beautiful and stuff. And then ten minutes later they’ll be expecting me to jump into bed with them,” he shrugged, looking down so he wasn’t meeting Mick’s gaze, “It happens a lot with us. You know, they’ll tell us they can give us things, get us into places and help us meet people we wouldn’t otherwise. They think we won’t say no because we need it. Most people don’t say no.”

“People do that?” Mick asked, frowning.

“Yeah. I guess because sometimes they don’t really see us as more than just a pretty face or a body to put clothes on, and they know they have all the power in those situations.”

“I’m not like that Charles,” Mick said, silently imploring him to look up and see that he was being honest, “That’s not why I’m doing this.”

Charles finally looked up, considering Mick for a second. Mick felt like he was looking right through him, rather than at him. He let him think for a few moments, deciding not to say anything else until Charles did.

“Sorry. I don’t want to sound so uptight, but you know, sometimes you have to be,” he said, giving Mick a tight smile as he picked at the cheese on the pizza slice left on his plate.

“I understand,” Mick nodded, “But I’m being serious. I’d love nothing more than to just get to know you. To see where this could go.”

Charles smiled again, looking down at his plate.

“I’d like that too.”

Feeling like an awkward fumbling teenager, Mick got his phone out of his bag and held it out to Charles.

“This is my number. Call me next time you’re in Milan.”

He watched as Charles put the number into his own phone. The tension that had settled over the two of them faded, and they managed to pick up the conversation they’d had going before. They ordered coffee and left only when Mick caught the waiter hovering about, clearly waiting for them to leave. He paid, despite Charles’ insistences.

If it had been anyone else, Mick would have been extremely tempted to kiss Charles as they said goodbye. But he didn’t want him doubting his intentions, and if there was anyone he wanted to take things slow with, it was Charles. He wanted to do this right, to make him feel comfortable, to let him know that he could trust him. He settled for a slightly awkward hug, that still left him feeling giddy and excited.

He watched Charles as he hailed a taxi, giving Mick one last smile over his shoulder before he got in and Mick turned away to start his short walk home. He got about three steps when his phone buzzed with a text from a number he didn’t recognise.

 _The next dinner is on me_.        


	5. v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: smut at the end of the chapter (if you're not into that stuff).
> 
> enjoY!

The next morning Mick had woken up around lunchtime, still feeling like he was floating on air. He could scarcely believe he had actually gone on a date with Charles, let alone that it had gone well and he’d left with his number. The elated feeling only lasted for a second before he realised that he’d woken up because someone was hammering on his door.

“What?” he shouted, turning his head to see Callum come running into his room and jumping onto the bed, landing mostly on Mick’s back.

“Ow!”

Callum just ignored him and shoved something in his face instead.

“You have to explain this!”

Mick snatched whatever it was out of his hand, and quickly realised that it was a magazine, one of those trashy gossip ones at that. And Callum was holding it open. All Mick could see was that it was all in Italian, and his Italian was dodgy at best.

“Why on earth do you have this? I can’t read this,” he said, brushing some of his hair off his forehead so he could look up at Callum, who was still half kneeling on him.

“Look at the pictures moron!”

Mick looked back down at the magazine, and the last thing he expected to see was a picture of himself staring back up at him. He was so startled that he sat up, knocking Callum onto his back and he held up the magazine so he could look closer. He recognised it instantly as one of the photos that had been taken of him and Charles as they’d left the fashion show yesterday. Mick’s hand was covering his face, shielding himself from the light, though on paper it looked as though he was trying to hide who he was, and Charles was pulling him by the elbow, a shy smile on his face as he looked at the camera.

Callum snatched the magazine back out of his hands before he could attempt to translate the little paragraph below the photo.

“Hey!”

“One of the new faces on the scene Charles Leclerc has already been making waves in the fashion world this season, but you will all be disappointed to find out that it looks like this one is already taken. Leclerc was spotted leaving the Fendi show last night arm in arm with a new mystery man – do you hear that Mick? You’re a mystery man,” Callum practically cackled, throwing his head back with laughter, clearly having too much fun with this. Mick took the magazine out of his hand so he couldn’t read anymore.

“Gimme that,” he scowled, feeling his face heating up as he stared at the photo again. He was just glad that it was nearly impossible to recognise him if you didn’t know him well, like Callum did, “Where did you even get this?”

“Maxi saw some girls reading it in his lecture and picked one up from a stand on his way home.”

“Great,” Mick mumbled.

“Hey, you can’t blame me. Now you have to explain what you were doing with him last night,” Maxi said and Mick looked up to see that he was stood in the doorway looking very amused. He came over to sit next to Callum on his bed with a very expectant expression on his face.

Since that night, Mick had seen Charles three times, each time he’d been in Milan for a job. Mostly they just went out for dinner, they were both busy so they had a lot to talk about, and Mick was enjoying getting to know more about him. Though there was the notable exclusion of paparazzi on those occasions; Charles explained that he really wasn’t as famous as that first time had made it seem. They were both so busy it was difficult to see each other so often. Mick would sometimes find himself thinking about the things they could do together if they had more time, and the places they would go. Sometimes when Charles would talk about Monaco, and growing up there with his brothers, Mick could tell how much he loved it there, and he would wonder what it would be like if the two of them went there together.

It was sickeningly, gross romantic stuff, but Mick felt like he was head over heels. No, he _knew_ he was. Still, three dates in and they hadn’t gone beyond the occasional longing stare and brush of the hands. Mick was desperate for something more, something else. But he could feel Charles’ reluctance to let go, to fully open up. And he couldn’t blame him. The more he saw of the fashion world, the more he understood what he had meant when he spoke of the way he was treated. Despite being the faces of the whole industry, they were often forgotten or pushed around. Mick saw the way they were stared at, borderline preyed upon, men and women alike, and he felt sick at the thought that Charles was being treated that way.

Mick’s hard work at his job started to pay off two, his bosses clearly appreciating the effort and hours he put in. He started to be allowed to tag along on the nicer, more high profile shoots, even given a few shoots of his own to be in charge of. They were small, usually just one or two pages, but his name was there, in black and white on the bottom of the page when he got given the new issue each month. And it felt good. He finally had something he could point to and show people that he was actually doing something with his life.

When his boss told him he was being picked to join the photography editor on a trip to Paris for their next issue’s cover shoot Mick was ecstatic. Not just because it was a big opportunity. But because he knew Charles was still living there – he remembered an anecdote he’d told him on their last date about trying to decorate his flat. Maybe he had his priorities slightly out of order, but it had been almost a month since he’d last seen him.

He was initially going to text Charles and let him know he was going to Paris, but he decided instead that he’d call him once he got there to surprise him. He figured he’d have a few free hours  the first evening once he got there because the shoot wasn’t until the next day. But he had no such luck. After landing and dropping his bags off at his hotel, he was dragged out by his boss almost immediately to some industry party.

He knew it was useful to be there, that this was how he was supposed to make a name for himself and meet the right kinds of people. But he just felt awkward and out of place. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel like he belonged at places like that. Even though he’d been given careful instructions of what to wear and his editor had gone as far as to give him a pair of trousers and a jacket to wear from the wardrobe back at their offices in Milan. But he still got the sense that his discomfort radiated from him like a flashing neon light.

It didn’t help that he was left alone almost as soon as he got there. A drink was pressed into his hand, and he kept sipping on it just for something to do. He could see his boss looking at him, staring at him in a way that said ‘go on, I brought you here for a reason’. But Mick felt a lot younger than nineteen years old all of a sudden. His boss rolled his eyes and marched over to him, grabbed him by the elbow and promptly marched him over to the group he had been with moments ago.

It wasn’t so bad once he was thrust into the conversation. He had a lot of questions to ask, and people seemed at least halfway interested in the kid that had been brought along and looked like he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. He was shuffled from person to person, business cards pushed into his hands, and trying to keep up with conversations that were a little beyond him.

The room was incredibly hot, even with the drinks Mick was trying to knock back in an attempt to cool himself down. In the end he had to excuse himself, and he slipped out of the patio doors and he finally felt like he could breathe once he was outside. It was a little surreal, looking out over a section of the Paris skyline, even though he couldn’t tell what he was looking at it, just a multitude of lights against the dark. He inhaled, leaning against the railing of the balcony, and rested his chin in his hands.

“Mick?” he heard someone say, and he whipped his head around to see Charles stood against the wall next to the door, “What are you doing here?”

Mick had never seen Charles looking the way he was. He looked like he’d just stepped off the runway, dressed in dark, tight clothes, his eyes ringed in dark eyeliner and his hair slicked down against his head. Mick felt his eyebrows rise when he spotted the unlit cigarette clutched between two of his fingers. He would have looked mean and intimidating, had he not been smiling.

“You smoke?” was the first thing that came out of Mick’s mouth, and he could have hit himself. Charles Leclerc popped up out of the blue and all he could ask about was whether or not he smoked. Luckily, it made him laugh.

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, holding up the cigarette and twirling it between his fingers, “It’s just a really good excuse to come outside and be alone.”

“I just said I was feeling sick,” Mick shrugged, laughing a little at himself. Charles grinned, putting the cigarette in his breast pocket and walking over to where Mick was, leaning on one elbow, facing Mick. He could tell that Charles had clearly been drinking as much as he had. But Mick could see that as surprised as he was, Charles was happy he was there.

“So why are you here?” Charles asked, tugging on Mick’s sleeve excitedly.

“For work. I was going to call you when I got a minute, I wanted to surprise you. Well that’s why I’m in Paris, I’m _here_ because I was dragged along by my bosses for networking or whatever.”

Charles flicked his eyes back towards the door and the party still going on inside;

“What do you think then?”

“It’s…intense.”

“You can say that again.”

He looked tired and Mick remembered that this was Charles’ world, these were the places he found himself all the time. Mick found a couple of hours of it exhausting enough, he couldn’t imagine doing it everyday.

“You have no idea how glad I am that you’re here, I honestly can’t quite believe it.”

“Me neither,” Mick chuckled, placing his hand on top of Charles’ where he still held onto his jacket.

“Those people in there, they’re so…” Charles didn’t seem to have the words to describe what he meant, and he settled for just curling his lip upwards, before his face relaxed, “But you, you’re different.”

Mick knew Charles was a little drunk, he knew it because he felt the same. But he had been dying to hear him say something like that every time they’d gone out. He could see he’d been close a few times, but stopped himself. But now he was looking at Mick without holding back at all.

“I’m sure they’re not _all_ bad.”

“It doesn’t matter; they might as well be.”

He could feel Charles moving closer, and they’d been close to this so many times Mick could scarcely let himself believe that anything would happen. Charles ran his hand up Mick’s arm until he reached his neck, and he could feel himself subconsciously leaning into the touch.

“Charles-,“ he started, but he saw him shake his head and smile.

“It’s okay. I want this, I know I do.”

“Me too.”

“Good.”

Mick let Charles press their lips together, and he could have melted it felt so right. He’d imagined this happening so many times, it was everything and nothing like he’d thought it would be. It was harder and more passionate, maybe because they’d waited so long. But he could feel that this was Charles opening up and letting go.

When he could feel that, he started to kiss back, properly. He pressed Charles’ back against the railing, and settled between his legs before he pulled away so he could breathe. There was no reason why he should have felt so light headed, but his head was spinning as he leant it against Charles’ shoulder.

“God Charles,” he laughed, “You just show up and…”

“Seduce you?”

Mick shook his head, laughing harder. It was all so bizarre, Charles shouldn’t have even been there and now Mick didn’t want to let go. He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that he was technically working, and there was a room full of people behind them that could walk out and see them. He barely looked like himself, beneath all the makeup and clothes, but Mick got the feeling that this was one of the rare occasions where he was being himself.

He reached up and pressed his thumb to the edge of Charles’ eye, smudging the makeup there. As soon as he was close enough Charles pressed their lips together again. He was tugging at Mick’s hair and pressing him closer, like he couldn’t get enough.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Charles mumbled against his lips, and Mick’s first instinct was an immediate ‘yes’. But he didn’t want Charles doing this just because he was mad about something, or feeling bad, or because he’d had one too many.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes I’m sure. How far is your hotel?”

“Not too far.”

“Come on then.”

Charles wound his fingers around Mick’s and gave him a little push so he had room to move. Mick half expected faces to turn towards them as they re-entered the room, but no one seemed to notice they were there; too caught up in their meaningless conversations, most of them either high or drunk from the looks of it. No one cared as they pushed their way through the stifling crowd, Charles’ thumb brushing across the back of Mick’s hand as he pulled him along.

When they finally made it outside onto the dark street, and Charles stepped to the edge of the pavement to try flag down a taxi, letting go of Mick’s hand he was struck by the urge to cling back onto him. But he was aware that now they weren’t alone, other people milling outside, some of them smoking, others waiting to be picked up. He was watching a pair of drunk girls in impossibly high heels cling onto each other as they argued about who would pay for the taxi home.

“Mick!” he looked to see Charles had successfully got them a taxi and was beckoning to him. He stumbled in after Charles, giving the driver the address of his hotel. Despite not having anything more to drink, Mick felt more drunk than he had ten minutes ago. But maybe that was just the effect of having Charles so close. He was holding back a little now, conscious that their driver was watching them, but that didn’t stop him from winding his hand around Mick’s thigh, squeezing it gently as he giggled beneath his breath.

“I’ve been thinking about this you know?” he whispered, leaning in so he could brush his nose against Mick’s jaw – _so much for subtlety_ , Mick thought. Not that he was complaining.

“About?” he asked, feigning ignorance just for the pleasure of hearing Charles say it out loud.

“You and me together, properly. Kissing you, touching you, everything.”

Mick would never have expected Charles to be so forward, not ordinarily. But sometimes it shone through in him, beneath all his carefully chosen words and polite niceties. There was a quiet fire and determination in him, and now he wasn’t hiding it.

“Me too,” he grinned, turning so he could see Charles’ face. He was smiling, but there was an intensity in his eyes that he only turned on when he was working. Their faces were close together, but neither of them closed the gap between them.

They jolted slightly as the taxi came to a stop in front of Mick’s hotel.

“ _Merci_ ,” Charles said, placing a twenty euro note into the driver’s hand. They both got out opposite sides of the car, and Mick led the way through the hotel lobby and into the lift that would take them up to his room.

He was tempted to pinch himself, just to see if this was really happening. He could see Charles watching him, smirking a little to himself, like he could sense Mick’s disbelief. His hands shook as he got his room key out of his wallet and it took him a couple of tries to actually unlock his door. It was a fancier room than he was used to, the hotel was probably the most expensive he’d ever stayed in. And he felt pleased with himself that this was where he got to take Charles, not his crappy little flat in Milan.

“This is nice,” Charles said, looking around the room, “I thought you said your job didn’t pay very well.”

“It doesn’t,” Mick laughed, “But I’m not paying for this.”

Charles tugged him by the lapels of his jacket, moving backwards in the direction of the large double bed that was still made up from when Mick had first arrived. He was smiling, knowing he was making Mick flustered. He let go of Mick so he could lie back, resting on his elbows, assuming a pose that was obviously meant to be provocative; his head cocked to the side in a look of faux-innocence, and his legs spread apart in a way that could have been accidental.

“You’re not modelling now Charles,” Mick laughed, watching as he pouted a little, but relaxed into a more natural position. Mick shrugged off his jacket and carefully placed it on the chair beside the bed, remembering that it wasn’t his after all. He did the same with his shoes and pants, and was about to undo his shirt when Charles reached out with his hands.

“Let me,” he sat up as Mick moved closer and undid all the buttons himself, with a slightly impressive speed, pushing it off his shoulders so it hung around his elbows. He smiled and ran his hands down Mick’s chest, in a way that would have made him feel self-conscious, had he not been looking at Mick like he was the best thing he’d ever seen.

Ten minutes later and all of their clothes were lying somewhere on the floor and Mick was pushing Charles into the too-soft mattress as he made the most beautiful sounds he’d ever heard. Mick had been tugging at his hair so much that it was no longer plastered to his scalp by the liberal amounts of hair gel, and the makeup on his face was smudged from where Mick’s lips had been. Charles’ head was tilted back against the pile of pillows on the bed, his legs locked around Mick’s back as he desperately clung onto his shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mick told him, pressing his lips to his ear, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

Charles smirked and moved his hands from Mick’s shoulders to his chest, pushing up him upwards so he had to pull out of Charles, and he kept moving him until it was him who was lying on his back, staring up at the ornate ceiling. With an endearing clumsiness, Charles straddled his hips and sank back down onto him eliciting a long drawn-out moan from Mick.

He placed his hands on Mick’s chest so he could fuck himself on Mick’s dick, Mick holding onto his hips to keep him steady. Mick could only watch him in wonder, knowing he looked every bit the love-struck fool. But if Charles hadn’t known he was totally gone for him before, he surely would now.

“Fuck Mick,” he shuddered as he fell forward onto Mick’s chest, the shockwaves of his orgasm running through him. He panted, whining a little as Mick thrust up into him a few more times, chasing his own release.

Mick knew he had to be up early in the morning, and he was sweaty and sticky and really in need of a shower, but he couldn’t bring himself to move when Charles settled against his chest, seemingly content with staying like that.

“Can I stay?” he asked, pressing lazy kisses against Mick’s collarbone.

“Of course.”

He wouldn’t have changed anything for the world as Charles fell asleep against him, both of them lying on top of the velvety sheets, the lights still on, and the chilly autumn air floating in through the open window.


	6. vi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not too long, but a bit more fluffy than the others have been :) hope you enjoy!

Mick woke up the next morning to the sound of running water. It took him a few moments to come to his sense properly, and he realised that he was in his hotel room, just that he was lying the wrong way round in his bed, on top of the covers rather than under them, and he was wearing approximately nothing. Then he remembered what had happened the night before and he smiled to himself. Rolling over onto his stomach, trying to ignore the slight pounding in his head, which were surely the beginnings of a hangover, he looked to see that the bathroom door was ajar, and the water he could hear was the bath. It looked early, judging from the dim light shining through the window, and when Mick scrambled on the floor for his phone, which had fallen out of his jacket pocket, he saw that he still had half an hour before his alarm was due to go off.

“Morning,” Mick looked up to see Charles standing in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in one of the robes that had come with the hotel room. He looked a little shy, like he was waiting for Mick to ask what he was still doing there, or what had happened the night before. He had lost some of the bravado of the night before, and Mick watched him chew on his bottom lip nervously.

“Good morning,” Mick smiled, and he watched Charles relax when he did so.

“I’m just running a bath, I hope that’s okay,” he said, pointing behind him into the bathroom.

“Yeah totally. I’m gonna order some breakfast, do you want anything?” he asked, feeling his stomach rumble. With being dragged out so suddenly the night before, he hadn’t a chance to eat anything, which was probably why he felt a little rough that morning.

“Coffee, and whatever you’re going to have,” Charles said, turning back into the bathroom so he could turn the taps off, the bath now full.

He left the door open and Mick watched, feeling a little like he shouldn’t but unable to help him, as he tugged at the robe and let it fall to the floor in a pool of fabric at his ankles. He sighed, a little too dreamily for him to want to admit he’d made that noise, as he admired the muscles in Charles’ back tensing as he lowered himself into the water, his shoulder blades jutting in and out from his skin.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered to himself, breaking out of the trance as he rolled over to pick up the room service menu and the phone on the bedside table. Once the food was ordered, he dug around in his suitcase for a clean pair of underwear and a fresh t-shirt, and then picked up his camera, trying to make sure everything was working for the shoot today.

He wandered over to the bathroom door and saw Charles had washed his face, and was submerging his head in the cloudy water in try clean his hair too. When he glanced up at Mick he looked younger.

“You better not be taking naked pictures of me,” he said, eying the camera with a dubious look.

“Why not? You look so hot,” Mick laughed, holding the camera up to his face and pretending to take some pictures, despite the display being switched off. Charles rolled his eyes with a smile, flicking some water in Mick’s direction.

“Careful! This is the most expensive thing I own,” he said, clutching the camera to his chest. He knelt down at the side of the bath, next to Charles’ feet, resting one elbow on the side of the bath.

“Nude photo shoots are like, my _one_ thing I refuse to do,” he said, looking quite serious. And knowing the way the people who Charles worked with acted, he could see why he would say no.

“Even for me?” he said, pouting. And Charles just shrugged, “You can’t even see anything beneath the water.”

“Do you really want to take my picture right now?”

“I always want to take your picture,” Mick said, turning on the camera again, sensing that Charles didn’t really mind when it was him, “You inspire me.”

Charles blushed, dipping the bottom half of his face beneath the water so Mick couldn’t see that he was smiling. But it was just visible in his eyes, that stared out at him behind the steam. Mick snapped one photo before shuffling a little closer.

“I don’t regret last night you know? Not at all,” Charles said once his mouth was above the water again. He leant his head back, looking upwards and away from Mick, the pale skin of his throat exposed to the camera instead.

“Good, I don’t either,” Mick said, not smiling this time because he was concentrating so hard. He thought it was a slightly odd thing for Charles to say. They had both been so clearly into it, it hadn’t even crossed his mind to think Charles might regret it.

“I just didn’t want you to think I felt like I had to do it. That I was using you or something,” he lifted one of his arms out of the water, draping it over the side of the bath, the water dripping off the tips of his fingers and onto the tiled floor.

“I didn’t think that.”

“I know that wasn’t how I always act, and yeah I was a little drunk, but mostly I just wanted you. I’m so used to faking it, it was hard not to get caught up in it because it felt so real,” he looked down as he leant his chin on the side of the bath, his arms either side of his face. Mick moved back again, sitting cross-legged so he could lean back a little, the camera coming back up to his face.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed or anything, it wasn’t a turn off if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Charles just smiled instead of responding.

“I’d be more than happy to do it again some time,” Mick said, placing the camera on the floor beside him.

“Do you want to…” Charles paused, clearly sifting through his mind for the right word, “Be together?”

“Yeah, yeah I want that.”

“We can still take it slow though?” Charles asked, biting his lip again, “I trust you, I really do. And more than I trust most people. But we’re still so busy, and we have our own lives to think about it, and we’re still just getting to know each other properly.”

“Charles. For you, I have all the time in the world.”

Mick moved closer, placing his own hands on top of Charles’ arms so he could lean in and kiss the tip of his nose, making Charles laugh.

“Now budge up, I’m coming in.”

“What?” Charles said with another laugh as Mick stood up.

He sat back again, his legs still stretched out along the bath, Mick was careful not to stand on them as he clambered in, water sloshing over the sides of the bath as he sunk into the water, clothes and all. Charles laughed, shaking his head at him as Mick kneeled either side of his legs, leaning over, bracing himself so he could stop just a few inches from him.

“You’re crazy,” Charles giggled as Mick kissed his cheek.

“Crazy for you,” he said, stroking his hand through Charles’ wet hair, his other running down the side of his neck.

“Oh my god. I thought you were pretentious and artsy, not full of cheesy one-liners.”

“You’ll learn to love them.”

Mick leant in to kiss him properly, tasting the warm water and bath soak on his skin, the tiniest hint of alcohol still on Charles’ tongue. He moved his lips down Charles’ chin, across his jaw, and started to kiss down his neck.

“You can’t leave any marks,” he said, though Mick had already worked that one out.

“A shame,” he pouted, scraping his fingernails across Charles’ hip lightly, the water numbing the feeling.

“What are you doing today?” Charles asked, tilting Mick’s head back up so they were face to face.

“Working, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I’m free this evening I think. I don’t fly back until tomorrow.”

“This evening works for me. You can come round to mine if you like?” Charles offered, his wet fingertips trailing across Mick’s cheek.

“That sounds great,” he smiled.

He kissed Charles again, and they were both just getting into it when they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Mick groaned as he pulled away from Charles.

“You go answer it,” he said, sitting back to give Charles more room.

“Why me?”

“Because I’ll look a bit weird answering the door in soaking wet clothes.”

Charles laughed and started to clamber out of the bath, water splashing over the sides of the bath as he moved.

“Okay, fair point.”

He picked up the fluffy robe and wrapped it around himself before he went to go get their breakfast. Mick watched him go, standing dripping in the middle of the bathroom, but he couldn’t bring himself to care that he was getting cold. He thought that morning was too perfect a moment to waste.


	7. vii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. too long no update am i right?  
> oopsy.  
> basically i've been working a lot and i went away for two weeks on holiday without my laptop so i haven't had time to write. but rest assured i do want to continue this fic.  
> also this chapter is a lil longer than some of the others to make up for the looooong gap :)  
> also warning: there is a description of sexual harassment at the end of this chapter, it's nothing too graphic but it is there.

If Mick thought he was head over heels before him and Charles decided to try build something together, then it was nothing compared to how he felt afterwards. He was totally smitten, as Callum reminded him every time his face lit up because he had a new text from Charles. He wouldn’t stay up way later than he should facetiming any old hook-up, and he would never have given up his weekends to make trips from Milan to Monaco. But the more time he spent with Charles, the more anxious he was to see him again. Maybe it was because they were conducting something of a long distance relationship, with Charles rarely in one place for long and Mick unable to spend all of his wage visiting him, but he missed him more than he ought to have when they were apart. Usually he would have been desperate to play it cool, to not come off as too eager to please or too interested. But with Charles he couldn’t be bothered to play games, he was crazy about him, and he made no pretences about the fact that he could see this going somewhere serious.

They were still taking things slowly, and Charles was clearly anxious to not put any labels on what they had. But he didn’t leave Mick guessing about whether he liked him or not. Though Mick could scarcely believe he did, Charles genuinely did like him, and he wanted to make room for him in his life – with what little space he could spare.

Their weekends together mostly consisted of lying wrapped up in the sheets of the double bed in Charles’ tiny flat in Monaco (just down the road from the building he’d grown up in) and Charles taking him to all his favourite places – the beaches he’d always swam in, the cafes and restaurants where he knew the waiting staff by name, and the streets he’d walked his whole life. At first Charles was still guarded, only letting it drop on a few occasions. But as the weeks went on he opened up more to Mick, and he was allowed the privilege of getting to know him properly. He realised that despite all his outwardly obvious determination and steely strength, he was shier than he let on, and humbler and more modest than people expected. He admitted that he’d always prefer to stay in than go to all of the fancy parties he complained bitterly about. He told Mick that modelling hadn’t always been the plan, that he’d never really had plans at all, but when he found out that he was good and he could make a fair amount of money from it he couldn’t say no. Not when he felt like he needed to help support his mother and his younger brother after his father had passed away. In the end Mick decided that he was too good and too kind for the world he’d fallen in to.

It was hard for Charles to make time for the two of them, and Mick knew that was part of his reluctance to commit to anything official. Charles would return home to Monaco as often as he could, he clearly preferred it there over anywhere else in the world, but most of his time was spent in his new apartment in Paris, and as much as Mick would have liked to, his budget didn’t stretch to visiting him there often. He found himself in Milan occasionally, where he would stay at Mick’s shared flat with Maxi. Despite his increasingly fancier clothes and the kinds of people he otherwise found himself socialising with, Charles didn’t bat an eyelid at the cramped flat that was Mick’s home, or the more modest ways him and his friends entertained themselves.

Charles was happy to go for coffee with Callum and Maxi – much to their delight - and he didn’t even mind helping to walk a drunk Callum home when they’d gone out for drinks one evening. The next morning Callum had woken up and told Mick that Charles was a good boyfriend.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Are you sure? You spend all your free time with him. And don’t give me the ‘just friends’ bullshit, I can hear you fucking from my room,” Callum said popping a couple of painkillers into his mouth and taking a swig of water.

“Shut up,” Mick tried hard not to blush but failed, “He’s not my boyfriend, but we’re getting there.”

“You’re taking your time.”

“It’s complicated. He’s away too much and he doesn’t want to get serious unless he’s totally sure.”

“But you want to, right?”

Mick didn’t have to think about his answer.

“Yeah of course. But I’m not going to rush him into anything.”

“I think you should just ask him.”

“Of course you’d think that.”

“He’s hot _and_ nice! What the hell are you waiting for?” Callum looked at Mick like he was insane. Mick just shrugged before Callum added, “Where is he by the way? I thought you’d be with him, not in here giving me coffee.”

Mick ignored his last comment.

“He had an early flight to catch back home.”

“Must be hard dating a supermodel.”

In response, Mick just picked up a pillow and whacked Callum over the head with it, his hangover be damned.

He wasn’t wrong with his suggestion that Mick should just ask Charles to be his boyfriend. He had thought about it enough times. But he had always maintained in his head that he would wait for Charles to come to him, because he knew trusting someone like he was wasn’t easy for him. And he didn’t want Charles to do it half-heartedly or because he felt pressured to.

had been working at his current job for around six months, and he liked to think he was getting rather good at it. The photography editor seemed to like him, though he had a habit of bossing Mick around like he was some intern just there to fetch coffee, but he was getting picked for better jobs and assignments. And he had collected quite the stack of magazines under his bed, all of which contained his name written somewhere inside them. He still kept in contact with René, though he wasn’t able to work for him as often as he had in the past. And he had started to do more of his own work on the side, now he was meeting people who got their photos taken for a living, he didn’t have to use Callum and Maxi anymore, and he was building up quite the portfolio on the small website René had helped him set up. Most of his memory cards were full of photos of Charles, but they both knew he could hardly post them on the internet. He would never have said he was attracting masses of attention, but he was getting to know more and more useful people, and models who were just starting out liked to have someone who knew what they were doing to take photos of them, just so they had something to show.

He guessed word must have gotten around from someone he’d shot, because he woke up one morning to an email in his inbox inviting him to some networking party when he was due to be in Paris the following week week. He saw it had been forwarded from his editor, who he was travelling with, but he saw that his name was written specifically in the email. Maybe this would finally be the first industry event that he could turn up to and not feel like he wasn’t supposed to be there.

There wasn’t a part of him that enjoyed these kinds of parties, but he would have been lying if he said he didn’t let out a little excited celebration. He liked his job, but already he felt like he wanted to move on. He talked to Charles about wanting to go freelance and be able to do his own thing. But he knew he had to make a name for himself before he could do that. And this seemed as good an opportunity as any.

He texted Charles immediately. Partly because he was excited and he knew he would understand why this was a big deal for him, but also because he was supposed to be staying with him, and he felt he owed him the courtesy of telling him he wouldn’t be around one evening. Charles’ reply was almost immediate.

_That’s great Mick! xxx_

_Maybe I’ll see you there ;)_

_Thanks x_

_Are you going too? x_

_I can be, if you don’t mind if I’m there ofc_

_Of course I want you there x_

As well as things were going for Mick, they were going even better for Charles. He was now a regular on the catwalks in Paris, London and even New York. And on more than one occasion Mick had caught his face in the pages of his own magazine, in some perfume ad or a paparazzi picture of him at a party or out for dinner. He had started to get even more attention, not so much that they couldn’t go out anymore, but they did have to be a little more careful if Charles didn’t want people to know about the two of them just yet. It also meant he had the luxury of getting to pick jobs more, and not needing to jump at every opportunity no matter how small. Yet recently, he had started to look more tired whenever Mick saw him. Though Charles insisted he just wasn’t used to all the travelling yet.

Mick arrived in Paris a day earlier than he really needed to be there, and he took a taxi straight to Charles’ flat. There was a moment, before he pressed the buzzer to be let in, that he felt a wave of nerves hit him and his heartbeat speed up. He wondered if Charles would ever stop having this effect on him. He shook his head and clutched the handle of his suitcase more firmly before he pressed the buzzer next to a label that read ‘ _Appartement 7 – Leclerc_ ’.

“Hello?” Charles’ voice was muffled by static but Mick recognised it instantly.

“It’s me.”

There was the sound of the front door unlocking and Mick made his way up two flights of stairs to the relatively familiar blue door of Charles’ flat. He was about to knock but noticed that Charles had left it on the latch, so he just pushed it open and called out.

“Charles?”

“I’m in the bedroom.”

Charles’ flat in Paris was almost the complete opposite of his one in Monaco. While the flat he had signed a lease for when he was 18, fresh out of school, was small and lacked fully functioning air conditioning, it felt lived in. It was full of books and photos, the furnishings were all mismatching half clearly given to him from family and the rest sourced himself. His new flat (Charles still called it that despite the fact he had lived in it for the best part of a year) was much larger, sleeker and more modern, but it still felt bare. The walls and most of the furniture that had come with it were white, the clothes in the wardrobe were mostly ones Charles had been gifted after shows and shoots, as opposed to ones he had picked out himself. It did have the virtue of having large windows overlooking the quiet street below, that Charles currently had propped open, letting the curtains fly about in the late October breeze. Personally Mick thought it was too cold to have the windows open, but it wasn’t his home after all.

He found Charles in the bedroom half dressed with just a shirt draped over his shoulders, bent over a suitcase full of clothes that he was rifling through. He must have seen Mick walk in because he looked up as he stepped in the door and smiled.

“Sorry. I thought I’d be ready by the time you got here, but I accidentally overslept.”

“What are you talking about? You’re half dressed, this is the perfect welcome.”

Charles rolled his eyes but stood up and stepped over the suitcase so he could wrap his arms around Mick and press their lips together. Mick couldn’t help but smile against his mouth, realising just how long it had been since they had been together.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, delighting in the way Charles grinned and replied;

“Me too.”

Mick glanced at the overflowing suitcase at their feet.

“Looking for something?”

Charles sighed and joined Mick in looking at mess.

“Yeah. My agent told me to wear a specific pair of jeans tonight that I got given. I can’t find them anywhere,” he said, before adding, “He wants me to build up a ‘relationship’ with the brand, and some executives are going to be there. And I’ve got to make a good impression and all that.”

“I can help you look if you like?”

Charles nodded and together the two of them looked through suitcases and boxes, all filled with clothes Mick didn’t think he had the body or the guts to wear. He was pretty sure Charles didn’t wear most of them either.

“God Charles, you have an awful lot of clothes,” he laughed, holding up a jacket to his chest, wondering if he could pull off the studded leather.

“Well it’s impolite to say no when they offer them.”

Mick shook his head fondly, shrugging on the jacket even though it was slightly too small for him and pouting as he struck a pose.

“How do I look?”

“Oh definitely like you just stepped off the runway.”

Mick laughed, pulling off the jacket pretty quickly;

“I can barely breathe in it, how do you fit into this stuff?”

“They’re always sample sizes so they’re pretty small. It’s literally my job to make sure they fit,” he shrugged pulling open another drawer and immediately whipping out a pair of jeans, “Aha!”

He held the blue denim in his hands triumphantly, waving it like a flag.

“They’re nicer than the ripped pair you always insist on wearing.”

“Hey!”

“What? It’s true,” Mick laughed.

“Oh come on, you just don’t understand fashion.”

“I don’t understand it, but I look at it all day. And those jeans, they’re not fashion.”

Charles threw the pair he held in his hands at Mick, who dodged the flying clothing with ease.

“Since I don’t get in choice in what I wear tonight,” Charles said, changing the subject, “You can let me decide what you wear.”

Mick considered his offer for a moment.

“Honestly it’ll probably be better than I brought with me. And I don’t want my boss to yell at me.”

Mick left Charles’ flat early that evening, so he could meet up with the rest of his colleagues before they arrived at the party. He could hardly have arrived hand in hand with Charles, as much as he might have liked to. Charles didn’t mind particularly, he had a call to take with his agent on how exactly to charm these executives into striking up a deal with him.

He had dressed Mick up in a pair of dress pants and a blazer that was more expensive than any item of clothing Mick had ever even considered buying. But when he met his boss outside the venue he looked him up and down and gave him an approving nod. He made a mental note to thank Charles later for earning him vital brownie points.

The room inside was dimly lit, deep purple lights shining up the walls, making it hard to tell where the walls were. The music that played pounded with heavy bass, but quiet enough that it would be possible to make actual conversation, which Mick supposed was the point of the whole evening. Slim, attractive servers wandered through the growing crowd, carrying trays of drinks which they offered his group as they walked through the door. The crowd was the usual mismatched affair that Mick had come to expect. Girls, probably too young to be sipping on the cocktails in their hands, rubbed shoulders with men three or four times their age who had deep pockets and salacious intentions. Some of the guests were dressed like bizarre interpretations of rare exotic birds, others opting for a more minimalistic yet effortlessly cool look. Mick was struck by his familiar feeling of inadequacy before he reminded himself that he was wanted here. That the intimidating sea of faces held hundreds of opportunities for him, and he just had to take them.

He made his way through the crowd, now more familiar with some of the faces and knowing who he ought to talk to and who was off limits. He kept one eye out for Charles, who he knew was arriving later, and avoiding drinking any of the cocktails with names he couldn’t pronounce. It was well into the night when he finally spotted Charles out of the corner of his eye, squeezed into one of the booths at the far end of the room.

He was sat in between two men, probably in their forties or fifties, a couple of other younger people sat on the other side. Mick recognised them as people Charles tended to spend time with when he was in Paris. He didn’t know whether he would call them his friends; Charles never did.

Trying to remain focused on the conversation he was having, he couldn’t help but keep one eye on Charles, who was sipping on his drink and looking over the rim of the glass at the man on his right who was currently leaning in to speak to him. Mick almost missed it, and he probably would have, had he not been so tuned into Charles that he noticed his reaction (the clenching of his jaw and the way he tightened his grip on his glass) but he looked down to see that the man he was speaking to had wrapped his hand around his thigh, rubbing his thumb across his denim-clad leg.

The reaction in Mick was instantaneous. He felt a possessive jealousy stir in his chest, followed by a white hot flash of anger at the obvious discomfort he could see on Charles’ face. Charles was good at hiding it, Mick reckoned only he could sense it because he knew him so well. Despite it, and to Mick’s surprise, Charles not only did not recoil, but he placed his own hand on top of the man’s, as if to hold it in place. Embarrassment and confusion joined the anger and jealousy in his head. Mick could feel his heart pounding in his ears as he tried to make sense of what he was looking at.

Realistically, Mick knew Charles was not going to be interested in this man. But God he hated, absolutely _hated_ , seeing him be like that with someone else. Really he had no right to be angry. Yes, they were trying to see if something could work out between them. But they weren’t exclusive, Charles wasn’t his boyfriend.

“Oh you’ve got no chance mate,” the man he was talking to (some editor of a magazine in London) laughed, redrawing his attention which he noticed had wandered.

“Sorry?” he looked back at the man and saw he was now staring at Charles’ group too.

“Charles Leclerc? I don’t blame you for looking. But no one gets a chance with him, and believe me, they try.”

Mick blushed, annoyed at himself for making it so obvious that he was watching him.

“I wasn’t- I mean, yeah he’s good looking,” he stammered, making the man grin a little wider.

“You and the rest of the fashion industry think so. If you’re looking to date him though I’d hedge your bets elsewhere. Plenty of people have tried, but he turns them all down. Doesn’t stop him leading them on,” he chuckled, “He thinks he has the whole ‘blushing virgin’ thing down, but I’d bet anything it’s far from the truth.”

Mick had to fight hard not to curl his lip up at the man’s expression, instead laughing along with him, despite the bitter taste his words put in his mouth and the churning in his stomach.

“Oh really?” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, for sure.”

Luckily for Mick the man was patted on the shoulder by someone passing by and he got pulled into another conversation. He took a deep breath and chanced a look at Charles’ table again. He saw that he was now being pulled to his feet by a female friend, presumably to go dance or talk to someone else. Mick was just glad he was getting away from the man. The man in question caught Charles’ wrist before he could walk away and said something to him that elicited a genuine smile from Charles this time. However, that smile was quickly lost when Charles turned back around and the man reached out to grab a handful of his ass. Mick couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could imagine the crude quip he was making about the jeans he was wearing.

Mick felt torn between crying and throwing a punch when he took in the disgusted expression on Charles’ face and the way he had to collect himself for a moment before he let the girl pull him along. She barely reacted, and Mick couldn’t decide whether it was because she didn’t care, or because she was so used to it that it meant nothing to her.

He left the party soon after, sending Charles a text to let him know that he’d let himself into his flat using the spare key outside his door. Unable to stomach the stifling atmosphere for much longer after witnessing that exchange. Despite being curled up in bed by one in the morning he couldn’t sleep, just lying awake, grabbing onto the pillow just so he had something to hold. He was exhausted but he was still awake when Charles came home at three (according to the digital alarm clock on the bedside table), and he didn’t care about letting Charles know. When he felt him slip underneath the sheets beside him Mick turned over, feeling out Charles’ body blindly, and wrapping his arms around his stomach so he could rest his head on his chest. He didn’t mean to hold on so tight, and it must have seemed like he was the one seeking comfort. Charles seemed to think so when he kissed the crown of his head and began softly stroking his hair. He had no idea that Mick’s intention was to offer it to him.


	8. viii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've upped the rating of this fic just because i think it probably needs it.  
> warning (or not depending what you're into): there's more smut in this chapter.
> 
> also i have no idea how long this is gonna get lol.

The phone rang out about three times before Charles picked up.

“Hey Mick.”

Mick could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke and he had to fight to get the goofy grin off his face before he said anything. He was on a public bus after all, he didn’t want to look like a complete weirdo.

“I have news,” he said, the grin returning to his face without permission.

“Oh you do?” Charles sounded surprised, but there was an undertone of excitement in his voice. It made Mick feel all giddy and excited that he had someone to share his achievements with. Someone who understood and someone who could be just as happy for him as he was for himself.

“Yeah. I got a job offer.”

There was a pause like Charles was waiting for Mick to elaborate, and when he didn’t he let out a little laugh of impatience.

“Mick! You’re killing me here. What’s the offer?”

“It’s still working at a magazine as a photographer, but the pay’s better, and the magazine is smaller so I’d have more responsibility and more control over the kinds of things I want to do. I wouldn’t just be there to follow marching orders.”

“Mick that’s great.”

Charles sounded so genuinely happy for him that Mick had to take a moment. Plus, he wanted to mentally prepare himself before he told him the next part of his news.

“Is it in Milan?” Charles asked before Mick could figure out how to say what he had to.

“No, no it isn’t.”

“Oh?”

“It’s in Paris.”

Mick heard Charles make a slight noise, a little like a gasp, but not as intense. Mick knew he’d surprised him there. Mick held his own breath, scared that Charles wouldn’t like this. Scared that he wanted to keep Mick at arm’s length, out of his space but there when he needed him. Not right on his doorstep. Maybe Mick was only ever meant to be a bit on the side. Or maybe he should have stopped jumping to conclusions and let Charles say something.

“Paris?” was all he said, like he needed confirmation.

“Yeah,” Mick breathed, feeling the nerves start to build in his chest.

“You’re moving to Paris?”

“It looks like it, yeah.”

“Mick!”

Charles let out what was as close as he got to a squeal of delight. And Mick could hear him stand up. He had to cover his mouth with his hand as he tried not to laugh, the relief flooding his body. Now he could let himself be excited about this.

“This is awesome Mick. I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither.”

“When do you start?”

“In a month’s time so I’ve got a lot to organise before then.”

“Do you think you could spare a weekend to celebrate? I’m heading home for a week on Friday.”

Mick grinned even wider, abandoning his attempts to get people on the bus to stop staring at him.

“Yeah I’m sure I can.”

***

Mick arrived like he always did in Monaco. Stepping off the hot train into the cavernous train station with hundreds of other people all making their way home from work on a Friday evening. He readjusted his heavy backpack, trying to take some of the strain off his shoulders and wishing he’d been able to decide on what to wear so he hadn’t ended up bringing so many things. But Charles’ ever-growing ability to look effortlessly cool was starting to make Mick feel underdressed at times. Not that Charles cared even a fraction as much as Mick did.

He took the lift up out of the station, to where he knew Charles would be waiting. It was difficult to see him through the streams of people exiting the station, but eventually he spotted him leaning up against a large sign with a map on it, his arms folded, his neck craned as he tried to get a glimpse of Mick in the sea of faces.

His eyes lit up when they met Mick’s, and he moved forward to meet him. Mick would have given him a hug, had he not had the huge bag on his back, but then he spotted the two helmets Charles held in his hands.

“What are these for?” he asked as Charles leaned in to kiss his cheek. There was something slightly disappointing in the casualness of the gesture. But Mick understood that while Charles was less likely to be hounded in his hometown, there were a lot of people around that knew him personally – family friends, school friends, acquaintances, old school teachers – and they weren’t quite at that stage where they were telling people about them.

“You’ll see,” he grinned, leading Mick away from the crowds and towards the street where he saw a gleaming, clearly brand new, scooter sat parked just on the pavement.

“Damn. This is nice,” he said, sounding very impressed.

“It’s a gift from my agency. To say well done,” he explained handing Mick one of the white helmets he held in his hand, “I got that brand deal with those executives I was talking to at that party. You remember, the ones at that party we both went to.”

Mick felt his stomach tighten and twist as he tried not to think too hard about what he’d seen that night.

“Yeah I remember,” he said, his voice flatter than it had been a few moments ago. He cleared his throat and tried to compose himself, “That sounds great though. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Charles beamed, slipping on his own helmet, clearly proud of himself for landing the deal. Mick was glad his face was hidden by the helmet because he knew he would have struggled to return his smile with quite as much enthusiasm.

Mick hadn’t mentioned to Charles what he’d seen that night, he wanted to, so badly. Especially because he was worried that wasn’t the first time something like that had happened, and he didn’t want it to be something Charles was holding up inside. But he couldn’t find a way or a time to bring it up. He was scared of embarrassing Charles, and coming across like he was jealous, when all he felt was worry. He knew he would have to find a way to talk about it someday. But when their time together was so precious, he didn’t want to taint it.

Holding onto the back of Charles’ new scooter, it took them barely five minutes to reach the underground parking of his apartment building. Mick was glad they didn’t have to walk for once, especially with the load he was carrying. Charles’ car stayed with him in Paris, which wasn’t a problem for him, but Mick couldn’t hack the hills of Monaco.

Charles helped Mick dump his things into the small bedroom and didn’t seem to have any intention of helping him unpack. Instead he spun Mick around so he could wrap his arms around his shoulders.

“I didn’t get to say hello properly,” he smiled, leaning in so he could brush his nose against Mick’s – who suddenly found himself wishing that he’d had some gum in between the sandwich he’d eaten at lunch and that moment.

“That’s right you didn’t,” he couldn’t help but smile back, smiling was all he seemed to do around Charles.

“Guess I’ll have to make up for it now.”

Mick sighed happily as their lips met. He could have kissed Charles forever he had decided, there was scarcely a thing he liked to do more in the world. They didn’t even need to have sex (though he enjoyed that too), he would have been content to just kiss him for the rest of his life.

He didn’t really expect Charles to sit him down on the edge of the bed and settle on his knees between his legs. Mick didn’t complain. He couldn’t do anything but watch as Charles undid his jeans and started working his cock with his mouth. A small part of his brain must still have been working because he found himself tugging lightly at Charles’ hair as half formed words and phrases got stuck in his throat, so he sounded a little bit like he was gasping for air. Charles looked up at him, wide green eyes hidden behind his long eyelashes, and Mick almost had to ask him not to, because the way he was staring at him was just about enough to make him want to die.

“Christ Charles,” he managed to choke out as his hips jerked forward and with a shudder he felt himself tip over the edge, the feeling of Charles’ hot mouth on him suddenly _almost_ too much. Charles smirked, wiping his mouth as he stood up to sit astride Mick’s lap.

Mick wasted no time undoing the belt around Charles’ hips, eager to repay the favour.

“I was thinking we could go out for dinner tonight. My treat,” Charles managed to get out just before he gasped and rolled his hips forward, Mick’s hand now twisting around his dick.

“That would be nice,” Mick agreed, not looking at Charles, too busy concentrating on the hand that he was pushing down the back of Charles’ jeans, gripping his bum and feeling out blindly with his fingers.

“I want to say well done on your new job,” Charles somehow managed to find the ability to speak, despite the flush on his face and the way his open mouth was pressed against Mick’s, more just a touching of lips going on than any real kissing.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mick said pressing a couple of kisses to Charles’ jaw as he finally felt the tight opening of Charles’ hole beneath his fingertips. Charles bucked his hips again as Mick flicked his thumb over the wet tip of his dick.

“But I want to,” he panted, “Besides, I’ve always wanted to go to the restaurant at the Fairmont, and now I have a reason to.”

If he had anything else to say all his words were lost when Mick pushed one, and then two fingers, inside of Charles, gently fucking him with them as he worked his dick at the same pace. Charles pressed his face into Mick’s shoulder, letting out a strangled moan as hot cum got all over Mick’s hand.

Not caring about the mess, Mick used his hands to lift Charles’ face to meet his and he pulled him in for a lazy kiss, the taste of himself just identifiable on Charles’ tongue.

“That was a proper welcome,” he murmured against Charles’ lips, laughing when he half-heartedly hit his arm.

***

A few hours later, Mick was watching Charles as he conversed with the waiter in French, asking him which drink he thought was best. One of the virtues of growing up in Switzerland meant that Mick knew a little French, but speaking German at home and English at school meant he didn’t know anywhere near enough to join in the conversation. Mick had seen the prices on the cocktail list so he was trying really hard not to freak out about the prices attached to them. He knew money wasn’t exactly a problem for Charles, but Mick wasn’t exactly rolling in it, and despite not paying he couldn’t help but panic a little at the thought.

The waiter returned carrying two tall, orange glasses, filled with lemon and ice. Charles didn’t tell him what was in it until after he’d had a sip. He had to admit it tasted rather nice, but he wouldn’t have said it was worth the price. Still Charles seemed more than happy to pay.

“To your new job!” Charles said, clinking their glasses together before he took a large mouthful.

Mick had almost forgotten that was the reason they were at the fancy restaurant.

“Thanks,” Mick grinned.

“So…you’re moving to Paris then?”

Mick nodded, though it sounded bizarre to think about it. He still wasn’t used to the idea himself. He would be sad to leave Callum and Maxi behind, and the city he had called home for the past two years. But he definitely felt it was the right time to move on. And he was looking forward to his new job. Sure, he didn’t hate his current one. But from the way the editor had sold it to him, the new magazine would be a better fit; giving him more freedom and control.

“You’ll have to help me brush up on my French,” Mick joked, making Charles laugh lightly.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” he paused for a beat before he continued, “Have you thought about where you’re going to live?”

Mick shook his head.

“Honestly I’ve barely thought about anything. I’ve told my boss I’m leaving, and my flatmate. But besides that nothing. I need to do everything.”

It wasn’t exactly like him to be totally on top of organising things, he was usually pretty last minute, much to his friends’ and family’s dismay. But moving and starting a new job was rather serious, maybe he should start treating it like it was.

“I have a suggestion, if you’re taking them,” Charles said, looking down at his drink which he was swilling around absentmindedly.

“Oh yeah?” Mick prompted, only realising afterwards how nervous Charles looked all of a sudden, retreating into that shyness that he sometimes did around Mick. He had forced himself out of the habit when he was in professional company and when he was working. Mick kind of liked that he could still let himself show his emotions properly when they were together.

“If you’re struggling to find somewhere, or you know if you just want to. You don’t have to obviously. But you could move in with me?” he finally looked up at Mick, biting his bottom lip.

It took a few seconds for his words to sink in.

And then Mick felt his eyes widen and his pulse pick up.

“Move in with you?”

“Yeah? If you want to.”

Mick was still gaping at Charles when the waiter came back again, this time with the platter of sushi they were sharing. He didn’t even have the grace to look less shell-shocked when he said thank you to their server.

Charles looked like he couldn’t figure out whether Mick’s reaction was a good thing. Honestly, he wasn’t feeling anything but shock in that moment. Sure they’d known each other for almost a year now, and they’d been dating for more than a few months. But they weren’t even officially together. It wasn’t that Mick didn’t want to move in with Charles. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he thought he loved the sound of that. It felt him with a giddy, child-like excitement just to imagine it.

He was just surprised Charles had suggested it.

“I-I’d love to,” he finally recovered, just as Charles was using the chopsticks to serve himself a couple pieces of sashimi. Charles chuckled self-consciously at his reply.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I am. I’m just a little shocked.”

Charles looked up and raised an eyebrow, like he was scrutinising him closely.

“I just thought it might make things cheaper for you, because we’d pay half each, and Paris is a pretty expensive place to rent. And I already have everything set up so you wouldn’t need to worry about buying furniture and setting up internet and stuff. A-and I’d just really like it, honestly. It’d be nice to have you close, you know, we’ve spent so long living so far apart.”

Mick beamed when Charles said that. Though he didn’t really need it. It felt good to have confirmation that Charles was as invested in this as he was.

“Honestly Charles, I’d love to move in with you.”

“Yeah?”

“One hundred percent.”

He helped himself to some of the sushi sat in between them, half noting how good it actually tasted. Maybe it could justify the price tag after all. He chewed thoughtfully before he swallowed and spoke again.

“Could I ask you something in return then?”

“Sure,” Charles looked a little surprised, but Mick could tell he was intrigued, and a lot more relaxed than he had been five minutes ago. Which was probably good considering Mick wasn’t sure how he was going to react to his question.

“Would you like to make this official? Would you like to be my boyfriend?”

Charles’ cheeks instantly heated up, and Mick forced himself not to look away as Charles searched for his voice to answer.

“Y-yes. Yes, I want that,” he nodded, laughing to himself, “Considering we’re going to be moving in together. I think it’s a little overdue.”

“We just had to get there.”

Charles smiled, the dimples on his cheeks as pronounced as he’d ever seen them. And Mick felt like he was floating on cloud nine. He got to call Charles his boyfriend, and in a month’s time they would be living together. It wouldn’t be stealing odd weekends, and making any excuse to see each other – and it never being enough.

“We don’t have to tell people yet, if you’re not ready for that. But I want you to know that I’m committed, I’m in this for the long run,” Mick said, fighting the urge to reach across the table and take Charles’ hand that was resting next to his plate.

“I’d like to tell my family, and my friends. Especially if we’re moving in together. I don’t think I’m quite ready to post it on social media or like, go _public_. But I want the people that matter to know,” Charles said, the smile still not leaving his face.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe we should get another drink to celebrate,” Mick suggested, trying to catch the waiter’s attention.

“I’ll do you one better, I’ll get us a whole bottle,” Charles grinned, turning around so he could call the server over.


	9. ix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a pretty short update, but i just felt like i wanted to get something posted. plus it sort of sets up things to come - but i'm fairly certain that'll only become apparent in later chapters.

Mick bet that the two bottles of champagne they shared had a little something to do with the fact that it was nearing eleven when Mick woke up. He turned over to see Charles coming back into the bedroom, wrapped in the bed sheet and carrying a glass of water.

“Hey,” Mick smiled, sitting up. He might have been annoyed that Charles had literally stolen the sheets but it was hot enough in the little apartment that it scarcely mattered.

“Hi,” Charles replied sitting down next to him, putting the glass on the bedside table and flopping onto his back. Mick could hear the stuffiness in his voice, like his nose was blocked, and he looked pale and tired, even though they’d had plenty of sleep.

“You feeling the alcohol from last night?” Mick grinned, crossing his legs and looking down at Charles – looking down at his boyfriend. There was a giddy excited feeling in him when he remembered that he could call Charles that.

Charles shook his head and sniffed.

“Maybe a little. I think I’m just sick.”

Mick pouted in sympathy, and patted the empty space on the bed next to him.

“Come here.”

Charles shuffled up the bed and Mick lay down next to him, not getting too close in case he was feeling too hot or uncomfortable. Mick reached out and let his fingers trace across Charles’ cheek and watching his eyelids flutter shut. He sniffed again, taking one of his hands out from beneath the sheet so he could wipe his nose.

“Do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?” Mick asked, his voice a little quieter than before.

“A bit. I’ve just been super busy recently, I think it’s caught up with me a little bit. The alcohol was probably the last straw.”

“You been sleeping okay?” Mick asked, hoping that he didn’t sound like his mother when she was checking in on him.

“Sort of,” Charles shrugged, before opening his eyes to look at Mick like he was thinking about whether he should say something else, “My agent actually cleared my whole schedule for the next week to give me some time off. He said I needed it.”

“That’s good.”

“He sort of had to. I passed out at a photo shoot on Monday,” Charles mumbled, closing his eyes again.

“Charles.”

“I know. It was stupid, I didn’t sleep much the night before, so I overslept and missed breakfast. I looked like such a fool, I got up and carried on but my agent doesn’t want me doing something like that again.”

“You carried on?”

“I had to. If I couldn’t they’d just replace me with someone else.”

“That sounds rough,” Mick said, brushing some off Charles’ hair off his face which he could feel was hot and clammy.

“It wasn’t fun.”

Charles sighed and moved a little closer to Mick so he could press his face into his chest.

“We don’t have to move, let me take care of you.”

“I was going to go round to my mother’s for dinner tonight. I thought I could introduce you to her, and my brothers.”

“We can if you feel better later. But don’t push yourself.”

“I’m sorry we can’t do anything today,” Charles mumbled, turning his face so his cheek was pressed against Mick’s chest and he could hear what he was saying better.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind,” Mick said, running a hand up and down the bare skin of Charles’ back, feeling his fingers skim across the tops of the ridges of his vertebrae.

“Thank you.”

Mick lay there for a little while longer, tracing shapeless patterns into Charles’ back. He couldn’t be sure whether he had fallen back to sleep, but he didn’t move as Mick ran his fingertips across his shoulder blades and around the nape of his neck. When he eventually couldn’t ignore the rumbling of his stomach any longer Mick carefully pulled back a little, making sure he didn’t move Charles too much. When he could see his face he realised that he was in fact asleep, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth hanging open just a little.

He pulled a t-shirt and a pair of shorts out of his rucksack, and pulled them on hastily before he made his way to the small kitchen in Charles’ flat. It quickly became apparent that there wasn’t an awful lot of food in the cupboards or the fridge. Unless Mick fancied making lunch from a couple tins of tuna and a half empty bottle of wine. Realising he was going to have to make a trip to the shops, Mick brushed his teeth and made an attempt to comb his hair. It was getting far too long, and he knew that if his parents could see him then they’d tell him he was long overdue a haircut. But Charles had said on a couple of occasions that he liked it that way, and Mick valued his opinion a little more highly than his parents – when it came to his physical appearance anyway.

Though he doubted Charles would wake up, he left a quick note to tell him where he’d gone in case he should. He grabbed the set of keys from the small, square dining table and left the flat which he returned to half an hour later, laden with bags.

He entered the flat quietly, but caught sight of Charles sitting at the dining table, now dressed in what Mick recognised as the shirt he’d been wearing the night before and a pair of joggers. He had a cup of steaming tea in front of him, but he still looked half asleep.

“Nice shirt,” Mick said as he put down his bags on the side, Charles looked down and managed to blush despite how pale he looked.

“You don’t mind me borrowing it?”

“Not at all.”

Mick didn’t say so out loud, but he liked seeing Charles in his clothes rather a lot – even if it was a size or so too big for him.

“I’ll make us some lunch,” Mick said as he began to unpack the shopping.

“You don’t have to-.”

“Nonsense. I can make you the soup my mum used to cook for me when I was sick.”

“Soup?”

“Yeah soup. It’s not very fancy, but it’ll make you feel better, I swear,” Mick said, placing his hand on his chest.

“Okay,” Charles nodded, drawing his knees up to his chest.

Mick set about cooking, half paying attention to what he was doing, half trying to draw Charles into a conversation about his move to Paris. Though he clearly still didn’t feel well, it got him a little bit more animated to think about their plans together. Charles laughed that he might have to give up a little closet space, and Mick joked that at least with him there they’d have a fully stocked fridge.

Charles looked considerably cheerier when Mick placed a bowl of chicken and tomato soup in front of him, and broke off an end of the baguette he’d bought so Charles could dip it in. Mick sat opposite him and served himself the same.

“Thanks Mick,” Charles said, blowing on a spoonful of soup before taking a small sip.

“Is it alright?”

“Hot,” Charles laughed, taking a gulp of his water, “But it’s tasty.”

“That’s good enough for me. Don’t feel like you have to eat it all if you’re not feeling one hundred per cent.”

Charles smiled at him before he took another spoonful. In the end he finished almost all of the soup, but left the bread, which Mick took to mop up his leftovers. The food put some colour back into Charles’ cheeks, but he was still shivering slightly. Rather than force him to try go out, Mick convinced him to just go back to bed. Mick cuddled under the covers beside him, even though he thought it was way too hot for that, and propped Charles’ laptop up on his legs so the two of them could watch a film.

Charles fell asleep again pretty quickly, but Mick was content to just lay there, even in the oppressive heat. In the end he was only half watching the film, mostly distracted by imagining their lives in a month’s time when they wouldn’t live hours apart, but just seconds. It felt like a new chapter for him in more ways than one, and he wondered if Charles felt the same.


	10. x.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy this a very long one. i feel like it's a bit rambly. but we have Drama inbound :))))

Mick didn’t know what to expect when he moved in with Charles a month later. He hired a small van to move his boxes of books, clothes, photography equipment and other odds and ends all the way from Italy to France. Mick himself caught a flight, waved off by Callum and Maxi, and was met by Charles on the other end at Paris Orly with the van waiting for him outside Charles’ apartment. It didn’t take long to unpack his things, Charles’ apartment was relatively empty, save for the wardrobes and chests of drawers. It felt a little more lived in when they were done.

For the first few weeks of his new job, he felt like he barely saw Charles. He was working later than he would have liked trying to get settled and ingratiating himself with his new colleagues and boss. He immediately felt more at home. There was just as much pressure, but he felt like he was being taken seriously and his voice was being heard. It also helped that he had his own office. He ignored the fact that everyone else also got their own office – even the interns who shared a meeting room – he felt like he was entitled to feel special for once.

Waking up next to Charles every morning was also a pretty good perk. Although it was more like every other morning. Even though Mick felt like he got up early, regularly he would look over and see the other side of the bed empty. Charles would be in the kitchen, already fully dressed, throwing back a shot of espresso, just as Mick was dragging himself up to get a piece of toast.

“Morning,” Mick yawned as Charles pushed a cup of coffee into his hand. Their first morning of living together, Mick had woken up with aching limbs to find a cup of coffee on his bedside table, made just the way he liked it. He didn’t know when Charles had worked that out but it made him smile like a schoolboy with his first crush.

“You look tired,” Charles laughed leaning in to press a kiss to Mick’s cheek, lingering there a second so Mick could breathe in the scent of his sweet shampoo and the muskiness of his aftershave.

“That’s because I am,” Mick laughed, taking a sip from his hot mug.

“I’ve got to leave soon,” Charles said, pulling away, “My car gets here at half six. I have a shoot today.”

“Leaving me already?” Mick pouted, putting on his best puppy dog eyes.

“Sadly. But I’ll be back later,” Charles smiled, leaning in to kiss him again, looking very reluctant to pull away.

There was something wonderfully domestic about moments in mornings like that.

Other mornings Charles was still fast asleep when Mick’s alarm went on. He was anxious not to wake him, aware that he had been out late the night before. Those days Charles wouldn’t have any work on, and he would sometimes meet Mick for lunch in between taking calls, answering emails and his hours long sessions with personal trainers in the gym.

Then there were the times when Mick wouldn’t see Charles for days at a time as he travelled across Europe to different cities for fittings, meetings and photo shoots. Sometimes Mick wished he could go with him, just for the simple pleasure of getting to be with Charles in some far off place he’d never visited before. But he had his own life to take care of.

Mick didn’t know how he wasn’t existing in a permanent state of exhaustion. But Charles insisted it was the norm for someone in his profession. It wasn’t as though Mick wasn’t busy, but for the most part he could leave his work at the door when he came home. In any case Charles was good at dragging him away from his laptop when he stayed up too late editing photos or trying to arrange shoots.

After several weeks of living together, two things became very apparent to Mick. Firstly, was the nagging realisation that despite being ‘official’ and despite living together, the idea of hiding their relationship became increasingly draining and taxing for him. He understood, and he had always understood, Charles’ reluctance surrounding the issue. But his fame wasn’t going anywhere soon, if anything it grew. And soon it became hard to keep up their lunch dates, lest they be spotted together too often. Let alone dinner dates or too much hanging out in public together. Mick noticed that Charles tended to rotate the people he hung out with, never being seen with one person too many times in a row, and never in the same fortnight. Keeping their relationship behind locked doors almost made Mick feel like he was just another moving part of Charles’ carousel of acquaintances.

The second thing Mick noticed was that he had to find some way for Charles to relax. Which was admittedly difficult if his options were limited to things they could do in their flat. He was incredibly diligent about his commitment to his job. Which explained the tedious gym sessions and the meticulously clean diet; all the apparent markers of someone at the height of health. But he had a tendency to neglect sleep, opting for a more nocturnal approach, and if Mick was too busy to pop to the supermarket for a few days, he didn’t seem inclined to restock the fridge himself. He was half convinced Charles would live off a combination of black coffee, green tea and diet coke if he could get away with it. Yet he didn’t seem necessarily unhappy. Tired, yes, and rundown, definitely. But not unhappy. So maybe Mick just didn’t understand. Charles seemed content to carry on as he was.

Which left him to tackle his first observation. The one he had more control over.

One Friday night, a rare occasion when Mick came home from work to find Charles already sat on the sofa, his laptop placed atop his crossed legs, typing away furiously. Charles looked up as he came in and grinned, shuffling across so Mick could sit next to him. Mick dumped his bag on the coffee table and sunk into the cushions next to Charles, his feet and back aching after a long day of crouching near to the floor trying to get that perfect angle for his perfect shot.

“Long day?” Charles asked, leaning down to turn Mick’s face towards him.

“Oh yeah.”

Charles pouted in sympathy before he leaned down to press their lips together. Mick felt himself relax instantly, the way he always did when he could smell the-…well actually he couldn’t smell Charles’ usual scent of aftershave and coffee. As pleasant as kissing Charles always was, he found his nostrils filled with the markedly unpleasant smell of cigarette smoke.

“Have you been smoking?” he asked as Charles pulled away, to his slight relief Charles laughed a little and shook his head.

“Not me, no. Everyone else on set was though. I swear, it looked like a chimney factory in the studio today.”

“Oh, oh okay.”

“I can change my shirt if it’s really bad?”

“No, no, you’re fine. I’m not letting you move. I’ve waited all day to get you back in my arms.”

Charles rolled his eyes fondly but let Mick pull him closer again, this time lightly pressing his teeth in Charles’ bottom lip and tugging in a way he knew made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“I was thinking, did you want to go out for dinner tonight?” Mick asked quietly as he pressed a quick kiss to the corner of Charles’ mouth. Usually Charles would cook on a Friday – something consisting mostly of vegetables with maybe some chicken or fish, if he was feeling generous.

“I can’t. I have an event tonight,” Charles said, and though he sounded apologetic Mick couldn’t stop the stab of disappointment he felt in the pit of his stomach. There was a voice in the back of his head that told him Charles wouldn’t have said yes even if he didn’t have plans.

“Oh well,” Mick said, trying to keep his voice light, but failing miserably when it came out sounding flat.

“You…you could come with me tonight if you wanted?” Charles said after a reasonable pause. Mick lifted his head in surprise. Maybe it was too much to hope that he meant as his date. But Charles rarely implied that he was ever allowed to bring people to the parties and events he went to.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’m allowed to bring a couple friends if I want.”

“Then yes, I’d love to.”

“It’s for the launch of the new Louis Vuitton store on Place Vendôme. It’ll be a lot of standing and getting my picture taken, but there’ll be alcohol. So that’s always nice,” he shrugged, “If you don’t mind waiting around a little.”

“Not at all. It’ll be nice to go somewhere with you.”

Charles smiled and then sat up a little straighter.

“I know exactly what I’m going to make you wear.”

And Mick knew he had no choice in the matter.

An hour or so later and Charles had dressed Mick in an impossibly soft stone grey jumper, which he’d given him a pair of cropped trousers with just a few too many zips - in his opinion – to wear with. He thought he just about pulled it off. The dark clothes definitely looked striking with his blonde hair, so he supposed that was something. Charles meanwhile looked like he was born to wear the blue blazer/jacket/coat (Mick didn’t know what to call it) and matching pants. Both were just tight enough that they clung to his sharp shoulders and elbows, and definitely made his ass look way better than it ought to have. The white shirt he put on underneath was just a little bit too big, making it look like an afterthought that tied everything together.

“How do I look?” he asked Mick whilst staring in the full length mirror by the wardrobe in their bedroom. He smoothed down the creases of the jacket, folding the sleeve _just so_.

“Perfect,” Mick answered instantly, probably too busy staring at Charles’ ass to notice that he didn’t smile at the compliment.

“I hate doing this myself. I can never get anything to look right,” he frowned. Mick shook his head and pulled Charles’ hands away from his clothes.

“You look amazing okay? Now you’re going to be late if you keep fussing.”

The store in the heart of the centre of Paris didn’t look like any shop Mick had ever stepped foot in. It more resembled the luxury hotels that it was nestled between. There was a stream of cars waiting outside, and photographers lining the path up to the entrance. It felt strange for Mick to be on the other side of the camera. Every inch of his body knew that he belonged with them, not stood next to Charles as he smiled shyly.

Charles was definitely right about the standing around. No sooner had they both taken a flute of champagne from a passing waiter, and Charles had begun to point out people around the room, Charles was shepherded away by an assistant. Charles turned to look over his shoulder and beckoned Mick to come with them, and he was rather grateful not to be left alone in the room filled with half drunk strangers. He followed them into a long narrow room, clearly modelled on a gallery from an art museum, with paintings and sculptures lining the walls; so impressive-looking that Mick couldn’t work out if they were fake or not. Someone had set up a camera at one end, and down the room Charles was shaking hands with the photographer.

A little hesitantly Mick approached when he saw Charles looking his way.

“This is my friend Mick. Is it okay if he stands and watches? He’s a photographer too so he’ll know not to get in the way.”

Mick smiled, unsure what to say as the man turned to look at him. He glanced him up and down, making him feel several inches shorter than he already was. The man was twice his age, roughly the same height as him, but there was such an air of arrogant confidence about him that Mick felt like he should apologise.

“A photographer too eh?” he said in heavily accented English. The implication was clear in his tone; that Mick was some kid playing at being a photographer, while he was the real deal. Mick disliked him instantly. But he just smiled politely.

“Yeah that’s right,” he said, but the man’s attention was already drawn back to Charles. The man’s face relaxed a little as he picked up the camera and turned to get Charles into position. Mick sighed a little wearily, earning him a conspiratorial smile from the girl who had led them into the room.

“Don’t worry. Everyone else thinks he’s an asshole too,” she said, moving a little closer to Mick so she wasn’t overheard.

Mick snorted ungracefully, feeling a little better now he knew he wasn’t alone in his dislike. The photographer seemed to realise that he wasn’t being watched by his small audience anymore, as he glanced over his shoulder, and he seemed none too pleased about that.

“How do you know Charles?” the girl asked, turning her back to the photographer, who was instructing Charles to walk forward a few steps as he snapped photos.

“We met at a shoot. I was only there to help out, and I think it was one of Charles’ first jobs. We’ve been friends a while now, over a year,” Mick said, trying to ignore the bitter taste the word ‘friend’ put in his mouth. He was half looking at the girl, half watching over his shoulder as the photographer rearranged Charles’ shirt, tutting a little at what was apparently the incorrect way he’d buttoned it up. Though it looked perfectly fine to Mick. Still the man undid the first four or so buttons of the shirt, just to redo three of them. Charles watched him do it with an impassive expression on his face.

“Nice. So you’re a photographer too?” she asked, tossing her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Yeah. I work for-,” Mick was about to tell her the name of the magazine he worked at when he was interrupted by the photographer.

“I can barely hear myself think with you two chatting away over there!” he said sharply, raising his voice as he turned to look at Mick and the girl, his hand still resting on Charles’ shoulder, “Go wait outside somewhere.”

The girl rolled her eyes but pulled Mick by the elbow into the next long gallery room. Charles shot Mick a rueful shrug before the door swung closed behind them.

“Please tell me you’re not like that when you’re working,” the girl laughed as the two of them sat down on a plush chaise lounge.

“Not in the slightest.”

“I think he fancies Charles as his muse, and he tends to get _way_ too into his work, you know?”

Mick nodded, even though he had no idea what she was talking about really. They had to sit out there for about ten minutes, and Mick could tell this girl was trying to flirt with him. He didn’t want to be impolite, but he tried his hardest to shut her down. It didn’t seem to be working very well however.

Charles appeared just in time to save Mick from having to make some terrible excuse up. And Mick was so grateful to see him that at first he didn’t notice how exceptionally pale he looked. And then he was too distracted by Charles leading him off into the main showroom where the majority of the guests were mingling. It took Mick a second to realise that through the material of his jumper he could feel Charles’ hand was shaking slightly. He glanced at Charles, and there was something in his face that spoke to a discomfort or a slight fear. He didn’t make eye contact with Mick as they made their way through the crowd.

“Ah here,” he said eventually, his voice sounding a little tight. Mick looked and saw a table filled with rows of drinks – wine, champagne and cocktails – and behind that a mishmash of different sized photographs from their ad campaigns, dating back to the 1980s, “There I am.”

Mick looked at where Charles and pointing, and smiled when he saw a photo of him standing on a beach somewhere, looking back over his shoulder at the camera as the wind whipped his hair and clothes around him.

“I’ve never seen that one before,” Mick said, leaning closer to admire the photo.

“Yeah. It’s new,” Charles said, blindly picking up a glass from the table and taking a sip without even looking to see what he was drinking. He inhaled deeply and Mick picked up a glass of wine just for something to do other than stare at Charles.

It was only his second drink of the night but Mick could feel it going to his head, making him feel a little dizzy and numb. Then he remembered that the last thing he’d eaten all day was his lunchtime sandwich, neither him nor Charles had picked up any dinner before they’d arrived. As soon as the thought entered his head he felt his stomach rumble loudly. But he knew he was unlikely to find any real food at an event like this.

Despite having to keep up the pretence that there was only something friendly going on between them, Charles let Mick stick to his side, introducing him to the people who came up to say hello. If there was something that had rattled Charles momentarily, he seemed to have moved past it – and the three glasses of alcohol he’d managed to wash down might have had something to do with that. The young crowd wasn’t as bad as Mick was anticipating. Despite his earlier encounter with the photographer most of the people Charles introduced him to seemed at least mildly impressed with his job, and had fairly interesting things to say.

Mick had no idea that Charles knew so many people. He had heard him talk about maybe six people he hung out with or liked to work with, but Mick had never met any of them. Charles’ world had always felt a little bit alien to him, but never more so than when he realised that he wasn’t part of it at all. It was clear none of his friends had any idea who he was and they clearly weren’t under any impression that Charles was anything but single. As Mick found out as he stood there watching guys and girls alike fall over themselves trying to flirt with Charles. He never pretended he was anything other than politely interested, it made Mick tremble with ill-suppressed jealousy to see.

While Charles had never met Mick’s family – Mick himself hadn’t seen them in months – they knew all about him thanks to his incessant rambling whenever he called his sister or his parents. His friends and his colleagues at work knew he had a boyfriend, though he kept the details vague. Mick felt like Charles was very much part of his life.

With a sting of hurt he wondered if Charles thought about him at all when he wasn’t there, or if he was just something that waited for him at home. And when Charles left their apartment it was like he ceased to exist at all.

All the thoughts swimming around in his head put him in a very bad mood. He could tell Charles noticed. He kept glancing sideways at Mick, shooting him looks that were supposed to say ‘are you okay?’. Eventually, as they found themselves alone for a second, Charles pulled on his arm to get his attention.

“Is everything alright?” Charles asked, his eyes soft with concern.

“Yeah I’m fine.”

“You look miserable,” Charles laughed a little, but there was a hint of annoyance in his tone.

“Do I?”

Mick knew he was being difficult for very little reason, and the corner of a packed room really wasn’t the place to be having this discussion. Charles sighed wearily and pulled Mick further into the corner so they couldn’t be overheard.

“You could at least pretend to be enjoying yourself,” he said, lowering his voice, but sounding like he was talking to an ill-behaved child rather than his boyfriend. Hearing that just made Mick bristle more.

“Who said I wasn’t enjoying myself?” he snapped, not bothering to be quiet like Charles was.

“You’re frowning and pouting like you’d rather be anywhere else in the world. You’re embarrassing me.”

Mick barked a laugh, earning him a looking from a waiter who had been lingering near them with a tray of empty glasses.

“Oh I’m embarrassing am I? Sorry I’m not cool enough for all this,” he said viciously, gesturing at the golden room around them, “Sorry you had to drag me along to this on some pity date.”

“Jesus Christ Mick can you not do this now.”

“Wouldn’t want me making a scene in front of all these important people would we?” Mick knew he was being mean and petty, and he was probably overreacting a little. But all his insecurities and Charles’ apparent lack of interest had poisoned his mind and he couldn’t think straight.

“Is this about what Julian said?” Charles asked, his frown deepening.

“Who the fuck is Julian?”

“The photographer who took my picture earlier.”

“ _Him?!_ Honestly I didn’t give it a second thought. You might be desperate to please him but I am not,” Mick lied. Every single person he’d met, even the nice ones, had made him feel slightly inadequate, and he was filled with a childish need to impress and be liked.

Charles’ expression shifted to something darker for a second and he stiffened. He pulled away from Mick and straightened up, pulling his shoulders back and tilting his chin up slightly. The mask that he always dropped when he was around Mick was back with a vengeance, and he regarded him a stony, cold expression.

“I’ll see you at home.”

He waited a beat before he turned and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?!”

“Somewhere else!” Charles called over his shoulder.

Mick got a taxi home and set himself up on the sofa for the night. He was woken up an hour or so before the sun was due to come up, the first dregs of daylight peeking over the rooftops of their neighbours. Charles clumsily unlocked the door, making little attempt to be quiet in his evidently drunk state. Mick watched him make his way into the bathroom, throw up a couple of times, brush his teeth, wash his face and then head into the bedroom where he passed out on the bed.

Mick settled back down under the blanket he had gotten for himself, he pulled it up to his chin but he couldn’t fall back to sleep. Instead he just stared at the mind-numbingly blank wall opposite him until his eyes burned and he eventually got up to make himself a coffee.


	11. xi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i call this the angst/smut/fluff chapter.
> 
> update: i forgot to add a warning for implied/referenced disordered eating. some behaviours are just described, but not discussed in any real detail.

Charles didn’t emerge from their bedroom until around three in the afternoon. When Mick had pulled the door shut he had been sleeping soundly, on top of the covers, still fully dressed. He didn’t have the heart to be so mad at him when he saw him like that, and he was left feeling hollow with guilt. He tried to work to distract himself. Because there was nothing he could do until Charles woke up. But it was difficult with his mind running overtime trying to work out if he’d been justified in what he’d said the night before, or whether he’d overreacted. Maybe it had been his insecurities speaking, maybe he had let it all get the better of him. But what he had felt was genuine, and he didn’t want to push that aside just because he cared about Charles too much to stay mad at him.

He sighed, hitting the backspace aggressively on his laptop keyboard to delete the last sentence he’d just typed. Leaning back in his chair, he rubbed his hands over his face and he might have fallen asleep like that had he not been distracted by the sound of a door opening.

He lowered his hands to see Charles trudging out of the bedroom door. His face looked a bit grey, and his hair was sticking out at all angles. Mick had to admit that he didn’t look great. He looked surprised to see Mick there, and he shot him a small smile, just the corners of his lips quirking upwards. But he didn’t say anything as he poured himself a glass of water from the tap.

Mick half expected him to retreat back into the bedroom, but he sat down at the table opposite him instead, letting out a low groan as he sat down.

“How are you feeling?” Mick asked, lowering the lid of his laptop so he could give Charles his full attention.

“Shit,” Charles croaked, his voice sounding scratchy and rough.

“Do you want me to make you something to eat?”

“Yeah. Yes, please,” Charles nodded.

Mick opted for something simple, that wouldn’t be too hard on his stomach, making sure he put a packet of painkillers on the table first before he popped two slices of bread into the toaster. Neither of them spoke as he waited for the toast to be done, buttered it, and put it on a plate in front of Charles.

“Thank you,” he said, picking up a piece so he could nibble at the corner cautiously.

Mick paused before he spoke, gathering his thoughts and making sure he said the right thing.

“I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to act like a child.”

Charles shook his head rapidly, and then seemed to regret doing so. But after the inevitable wave of nausea passed he answered.

“No, it’s okay. I shouldn’t have said some of the things I did. I was being rude. I’m sorry too.”

“I just…” Mick started, but he found it hard to carry on beyond a few words. They’d never had a conversation like this before, they’d never had a real argument, and they’d never had to work through everything. A part of Mick was scared of hurting Charles by telling him how he was feeling. But he knew he couldn’t live like that, and that he owed him his truth.

“Tell me,” Charles said softly. And that convinced Mick.

“I just got all worked up about having to pretend to just be your friend. I mean, I understand, I really do, why you don’t want to, why we can’t. But it’s just sometimes I want to be your boyfriend for real, outside of this apartment. I want to take you on dates, and show you off to my friends, and just get to be with you.

And I think I just got insecure last night seeing you with all these interesting, cool people and I felt like maybe there was a different reason you didn’t want to go public. That maybe I wasn’t enough to be part of that part of your life. And that maybe I really do embarrass you.

It sounds so stupid I know! But I was tired and upset and it all got carried away in my head.”

Mick took a deep breath and glanced up to see Charles watching him with a look of sadness in his eyes. But Mick didn’t quite know what that meant.

“I’m not embarrassed of you Mick,” he eventually said, his voice quiet. Although rationally he had known that all along, there was a warmth in Mick’s chest that told him he needed to hear Charles say that.

“Thank you,” he smiled, “I think it’s just easy to feel inadequate and like I don’t know what I’m doing. Especially in a room full of people who all seem to have their shit together. You’re so much better at dealing with them than me.”

“I’m not sure if I am,” Charles said, and his voice cracked. Mick couldn’t tell whether it was the effects of his hangover, or something else.

“You are. You own every room you walk in to,” Mick said, taking Charles’ hand that he had left on the table top. His hand looked so small in Mick’s, and he hoped that the shivering he could feel was a result of the cold or the alcohol. Not because of nerves or anxiety.

“I’m really sorry Mick, last night he-I wasn’t…” Charles didn’t seem to have the words to express whatever it was he was thinking, and Mick watched as one fat tear rolled down his cheek. He was a little startled at first. Charles didn’t hide his feelings from him – as far as he was aware – but he had never struck Mick as someone who was prone to tears.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” Mick said, moving a little closer to Charles and gripping his hand tighter.

“Sorry,” he said, sniffing and wiping at his face with his free hand. But that one tear seemed to have opened the floodgates, because when he tried to say something else all that came out of his mouth was a small, pitiful sob.

Mick immediately got to his knees next to where Charles was now hunched over in his chair. He wrapped his arms around his back and pulled him close so he could rest his head on his shoulder. Charles’ body crumpled against Mick’s and he let Mick hold him as he cried. There was an air of embarrassment about him, like he really wanted to stop but just couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what had set him off like this. Whether it was their fight getting on top of him, or his overtiredness from work, the pressure, or just a combination of everything. Mick knew that all he had to do was comfort him now, and ask questions later. He stroked his back and shushed him gently, in a way he remembered his mother doing when he’d fall off his bike or scrape his knee when he was younger. He waited until his crying had subsided to hiccupping breaths before he pulled away, wiping his blotchy face dry, glad that Charles wasn’t avoiding eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Mick could feel the yards of apologies on the tip of his tongue.

“It’s okay. I understand, you don’t need to explain.”

Charles seem relieved to hear that, he inhaled shakily and tried to sit up a little straighter, but he just seemed so tired. It wasn’t the sleepiness that Mick sometimes saw when Charles was having his first coffee of the day, it was something bone deep, the kind of exhaustion that would take days to sleep off. Mick thought that above all, Charles just needed to relax. All he did was work, and when he wasn’t physically there, he was either preparing for work, or thinking about it. Mick knew it wasn’t long until fashion week would be rolling around, and he could already see the pressure building in Charles as he spent more time thinking about that hectic month.

“Let’s just go back to bed for today. We can watch one of those crappy French comedies you like so much and I’ll order us a pizza. How does that sound?” Mick said running his hand through Charles’ messy hair, trying to flatten it a little, “And you’re allowed one pizza. We didn’t eat dinner last night, and I’m pretty sure you threw up anything you did eat yesterday.”

“Can we share one?” Charles asked after thinking about his offer for a moment.

“Sure,” Mick beamed, it was nothing short of a miracle to get Charles to eat junk food. And Mick was a firm believer that good food was a cure for most ills, “Come on.”

He helped Charles stand and found every cushion, pillow and blanket in their flat so he could set the two of them up in bed. Charles finally changed out of the clothes he’d been wearing the night before, and pulled on a pair of striped pyjama pants and one of Mick’s jumpers. Mick didn’t think he was a particularly big guy himself, and he was certainly a few inches shorter than Charles, so he was surprised at how big his jumper looked on Charles, and how his frame seemed swamped by the knitted wool. He didn’t say anything; it didn’t seem the time or the place. Especially not when Charles seemed on the verge of calming down. But it made his stomach twist with ill-concealed worry.

Maybe he just didn’t understand. Charles had enough people looking out for him when it came to his appearance, from his agent to his personal trainer and all the stylists he worked with. They would know if something was off. And Mick had seen every inch of Charles’ body and he had never once been struck by the the thought that anything was wrong.

They shared their cheese and tomato pizza, and only made it half way through the movie before the laptop was pushed to one side, and Mick found himself pulling his jumper off Charles and pressing him back into the unnecessary amount of pillows he’d arranged on the headboard.

Charles held him closer than usual throughout it all, his mouth seeking out Mick’s whenever he didn’t need to pull away to catch his breath, and even then he’d keep his open mouth pressed against Mick’s cheek, the sound of his soft panting filling his ear. Maybe it was just because he was thinking about it, but was acutely aware of how sharp Charles’ knee caps were where they dug into his sides, and how easily he could wrap his fingers around his wrists when he held them down above his head. He was overthinking it, he knew that, and he was letting his worry dictate his thoughts again. But it was hard to stop noticing once he started.

The only thing that distracted him was when Charles’ moans were interrupted by three small words he whispered in his ear.

Mick pulled back, not ceasing the movement of his hips, just so he could see Charles’ face, needing to see what his expression looked like, needing to see if it was real. There was nothing but honesty in his eyes, and Mick thought his heart could have burst in that moment. His brain certainly felt like it was going to. He brushed his fingers across his cheek, watching as Charles tilted his head and leaned into the touch.

“I love you too,” he said breathlessly, reaching down between them to stroke Charles’ cock in time with his thrusts, needing to see that look on his face when Mick got him to cum. Charles arched his back, digging his heels into Mick’s, as he whimpered his name.

“You’re so beautiful,” Mick murmured, wrapping his other hand around the back of Charles’ head, pulling their bodies flush together. Deciding instead that he would just listen to the strangled way Charles said his name.

Mick finished a few moments later, burying himself deep inside Charles and staying there, their bodies entwined impossibly close together.

“I do love you, I wasn’t just saying that,” Charles said as Mick pulled out and rolled over so he could lay on his back next to Charles, feeling out of breath and achy in all the best ways.

“I know. I know you do.”

They lay there as the seconds ticked by, trying to catch their breath, neither of them making a move to clean up or get redressed.

“Are you working tomorrow?” Mick asked by way of breaking their lengthy silence.

“No. It’s a Sunday.”

“Good. I have a plan.”

***

Mick didn’t tell Charles where they were going, beyond assuring him that it wasn’t somewhere they were going to be seen by people that knew who they were. He had a cool box filled with food and water in the boot of his car, a rolled up blanket on the back seat, and Charles is the passenger seat, laughing at him as he sang along to the radio, horribly out of tune. It was a warm day, to say that they were nearing autumn now, like God had looked down on Mick, taken note of his idea, and known that they both needed just one good day. It took them a good hour to get to where Mick wanted to go, and Charles looked a little confused as they pulled into a car park on the edge of the town of Fontainebleau, the château sitting high in the distance.

“What are we doing here?” Charles asked as the two of them got out the car. Mick reached into the backseat and pulled out the tartan blanket, throwing it at Charles, who managed to catch it before it hit the floor.

“Going on a picnic,” he said, smiling as he pulled the box out of the boot, unfolding the handle so he could hold it better.

“A picnic?”

“Yeah! The forest here is huge, we’ll be able to find somewhere quiet and private. Plus, look how quiet it is no one’s around.”

Charles glanced at the mostly empty car park, and then the rows and rows of trees rising up in front of them. A small smile made its way onto his lips, making Mick feel triumphant.

“I haven’t done something like this in years,” he said, letting Mick lead the way into the woods.

“Me neither. We used to do this a lot though, when I lived in Switzerland. We’d go hiking and bring lunch with us. It was nice.”

“During the summers when I was a kid, my grandma used to get me and my brothers to help her make the sandwiches and snacks, so then we could spend the whole day at the beach. We’d just spend hours swimming and playing. I used to be so exhausted by the end of the day sometimes I’d fall asleep right there on the sunbed, and my grandma had to carry me back to our flat,” Charles said, smiling at the memory.

Mick grinned, liking that the Charles he was looking at now was so different to the one he saw the day before. He seemed more relaxed, even moving to walk beside Mick and lace their hands together as they walked, looking for some clearing where they could sit and set up camp.

In the end they laid out their rug at the foot of a a small rock face, on a dry patch of green grass. The sun was just peeking through the clouds, warming up the ground enough that Mick could take off his jacket, and Charles dispensed with the scarf he was wearing.

Mick opened up the box, taking out the bottles of water, and the two sandwiches he’d made that morning and wrapped in tin foil, a packet of crisps and two apples. He’d bought a packet of beignets from the bakery a couple doors down from their flat, but he figured he’d leave them and see how Charles was before he offered them.

“Is this what you were doing in the kitchen this morning when you were making all that noise?” Charles asked, as he picked up an apple and took a bite out of it.

“Yeah. But don’t criticise my sandwich making skills, you haven’t experienced them yet. And I’ll have you know they are legendary,” Mick said, unwrapping the ham and cheese sandwich he’d made from half a baguette.

“We’ll see about that.”

Mick found a smooth part of the rock to lean against as he chewed absentmindedly, looking up at the treetops above him. Charles threw his apple core into the long grass, before he moved to lie down, his head resting on Mick’s lap. They sat in silence, listening to the sounds around them rather than speaking. It was peaceful, and Mick couldn’t hide the smile from his face, realising that he was finally getting that date with Charles that he’d always wanted. Sure it wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Do you want your sandwich?” he asked softly, feeling like it was wrong of him to break the silence.

“Yeah okay,” Charles said, holding his hand out so Mick could pass it to him. He sat up, leaning his back against the rock like Mick was.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mick watched him inspect the sandwich before taking a bite. He ate slowly, Mick didn’t say anything when he started to pick out the pieces of ham and bits of cheese, leaving behind mostly the salad and bread. He let it be, because Charles seemed happy, chatting away quietly, laughing at the stupid jokes Mick was cracking.

They sat there for hours, and Mick thought it was one of the best days they’d shared together. It was so quiet, it was like no one else existed in the entire world, and if he could he would have stayed in those moments forever.

“Thank you Mick, I really needed this,” Charles said as they started to pack away their things, noticing by the time on his watch that if they wanted to get back before dark they’d have to leave soon.

“Good. I wanted to cheer you up,” he said, folding the blanket in his hands as Charles repacked the cool box, “I just want you to be happy Charles.”

Charles smiled and took Mick’s hand again so they could walk back to his car, savouring their last few moments alone together.


	12. xii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is wayyyyy longer than i anticipated - considering it started out in my head as a fluff filler chapter.  
> and it definitely is still fluffy, so enjoy!!

The following weeks were good for Charles and Mick. It helped that the holidays were approaching, and they were both looking forward to seeing their families and going home for a couple of weeks. Mick knew that one of the most stressful times of the year lay on the other side of the new year, so he was glad Charles seemed in high spirits going into it.

The photo shoots, catalogue and print work had died down a little for Charles as designers and brands readied themselves for the new year and the new season. Which meant he wasn’t as impossibly busy as before, and that seemed to suit him. Mick’s work carried on at its usual breakneck pace, so he was very much looking forward to his two weeks off.

He wondered if something had clicked for Charles after their first fight. That maybe he realised he had to slow down and just take his foot off the gas. He was sleeping better, eating more, and just generally giving himself time to relax.

Of course he still worked out, and ate way healthier than Mick and his newfound love of French food could ever hope to. But he had also started to work his way through various hobbies and activities in what seemed like a bid to give himself something other than work to think of. Some he was terrible at (yoga and knitting), some he just had neither the patience nor the appetite for (crosswords and jigsaws), while others he was rather good at and seemed to enjoy (drawing and reading). Once Mick had come home to find Charles teaching himself basic German from one of those free apps on his phone – something he had been mildly embarrassed about, but which Mick thought was adorable. He didn’t tell Mick much about his reasoning behind his new mission to find a hobby and stick to it, but it seemed to settle him a little so Mick didn’t care what the reasons were.

He liked coming home to find Charles curled up in bed, still in his gym clothes, engrossed in some suitably pretentious book Mick would only have pretended to have read, or hunched over at the kitchen table, doodling in the notebook he’d bought for himself. On more than one occasion Mick had been caught taking his camera out of his bag, just because he wanted to capture the look of relaxed concentration on Charles’ face and save it as an immortal reminder of just how attractive his boyfriend could be.

“Hey!” Charles caught him each time, scolding him half heartedly before pulling some face, somewhat breaking the beauty of the moment.

“Sorry! You just look so cute I can’t help myself!” Mick would say, holding his hands up in surrender.

Once Charles pulled Mick onto his lap, and instead of the thoughtful candid photo he had been hoping to get, Mick was left with a picture of them pulling stupid faces at the camera, which he loved all the same.

He added the picture to a separate folder on his laptop which he was going to print out and give to Charles as part of his Christmas present. He had saved all his best photos from the dates he’d been on with Charles, and the places they’d gone together. None of them were pictures of Charles, but Mick knew that when he saw the ones he’d picked, he’d be transported back to those days and those moments. He figured he was so used to seeing pictures of himself, it might be nice for him not to have that for once.

What Mick was most excited about as they headed into December was that Charles had decided that he would go to Switzerland with Mick for a few days just before Christmas, before heading to Monaco, where Mick would join him for the New Year. He kept flitting between being incredibly excited and horribly nervous at the prospect of Charles meeting his family.

He didn’t think it would go badly exactly, Mick couldn’t imagine anyone meeting Charles and disliking him. But his father could cut a very imposing figure, and he didn’t want him trying to scare Charles. And then there was the fact that this would be the first time Mick would introduce his family to a boyfriend, rather than a girlfriend – though admittedly he had only been in one semi-serious relationship before this – and he didn’t want them being all awkward about it. In reality the only real danger was that Mick would overthink it and ruin it himself. He wondered if Charles was having the same thoughts about him meeting his mother and brothers, because on the surface he seemed nothing but calm.

***

Mick helped Charles pull his suitcase off the luggage carousel, regretting it slightly when he realised how heavy it was. Although he was only staying with Mick for a few nights in his house near the shores of Lake Geneva, he was flying straight from Switzerland to Monaco, so he’d brought rather a lot of his things with him. Mick on the other hand just had a carry-on bag, he had enough clothes at home to last him the fortnight.

He felt his body hum with familiar anxiety as the two of them made their way through arrivals. Charles had confessed that he was a little nervous at the prospect of being spotted, though Mick had tried to reassure him that Geneva airport was small enough that there wouldn’t be too many people around. He was still wearing sunglasses, despite it being the middle of December, though really Mick suspected this was to cover up how tired he still was. Charles had fallen asleep almost as soon as they’d taken off, despite the book he’d placed in his lap like he was going to read it, and the flight hadn’t been nearly long enough for him to get a satisfying amount of sleep. He had on one of Mick’s hoodies, the one memento he had of his brief time at university, which covered up his fancier clothes. Nothing hid the pair of Gucci trainers he was wearing, a sight which had made Mick laugh and Charles protest that they really were comfortable.

As they were met by the sea of taxi drivers and waiting families Mick craned his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of his family. His heart was still thumping nervously, but as he caught sight of his sister’s blond hair that anxiety quickly morphed into pure joy. He had forgotten just how long it had been since he had been home.

He waved to get her attention, and grinned at Charles to indicate that he should follow him.

Mick practically ran the last couple of steps, throwing his arms around his big sister and laughing as she picked him up and spun him around. And he couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed about it.

“I missed you so much,” he said, finding it almost a relief to get to switch back to speaking German after spending months speaking almost exclusively in English. Now that he didn’t live with Maxi anymore he was half scared that he’d lose the ability to speak his native language, but it came back to him instantly.

“I missed you too,” she said, her smile taking over her whole face. Immediately her eyes fell to Charles, who was standing a little way back, giving the two of them space.

“You must be Gina,” he said, stepping forward a little to join the group. His sister gave him an incredibly quick once-over, in that protective way all older siblings had to do when deciding if someone was good enough for their younger sibling. Mick was sure he was the only one who noticed. She smiled quickly and accepted the kiss on the cheek Charles offered.

“It’s great to finally meet you,” she said.

Mick picked up his bags again as she led them to her car which was waiting outside.

The only other thing she said before they got in the car was to lean over to Mick while they were putting the suitcases in the boot and whisper in German;

“He’s so out of your league. How did you manage to get him to agree to go out with you?”

“Oh shut up,” Mick rolled his eyes as he hit her playfully on the arm.

Charles gave him a questioning look and Mick shrugged;

“She said you’re too good looking for me.”

“Mick!” Gina said, looking embarrassed that Mick had exposed her. Mick just laughed and got into the backseat next to Charles.

The three of them struck up small talk as they drove the hour or so it took to get from the airport to Mick’s house. Mostly Mick left his boyfriend and sister to it, instead staring out of the window so he could get a glimpse of the hills and the scenery he’d known all his life. And which he couldn’t describe using any word other than ‘home’. Even the air felt different there, especially compared to bustling cities like Paris and Milan. Mick finally felt like he could breathe freely again.

Mick could tell Charles was nervous about meeting his parents, but he reassured him that he was nearly impossible to dislike, and that he’d told his parents so much about Charles that they must have felt like the knew him already. To ease his nerves, Mick kept a tight hold on his hand as they entered the house, making their way into the light and airy kitchen.

“We’re home!” Gina called out, getting their parents’ attention. She left to go take their bags upstairs, leaving the four of them alone.

His mother didn’t say anything initially, she just sighed and smiled, like it was a relief to see Mick standing there with all his limbs attached and no evident damage having been done from the year of living alone. She bundled him up into her arms, and when he rested his head on her shoulder, Mick knew he could have stayed like that forever. While he held onto her, his father reached over to ruffle his hair, pressing a firm kiss to his temple.

“Welcome home,” was all he said.

Mick eventually let go and turned to see Charles watching the scene with a fond smile.

“ _Mama, Papa_ , this is Charles, my boyfriend.”

Charles stepped forward, as hesitantly as he had with Gina, and seemed relieved when Mick’s mother gathered him into a hug as well. Mick was slightly relieved himself when his father settled for a handshake and didn't make any comments other than that he was glad Charles would be staying with them.

After the initial introductions, the two of them were sent off to unpack and get set up in Mick’s old room before they came back down for dinner. Dinner was slightly awkward, as his parents fought through the uneasy small talk and Charles answered, desperate to say the right thing.

They asked him what he did for a living (despite already being well aware of his job) and where he was from (which they had to have worked out from the number of weekends Mick had been spending in Monaco). It got a little less awkward as time went on and everyone started to act more like their usual selves. Charles looked glad that there had been no interrogation for him, or no awkward questions about their sex life or something.

When they lay in bed that evening, Mick curled up behind Charles he felt like things were pretty good with them. Considering his fears about a month ago, about Charles, about their relationship, he felt like things couldn’t be better.

“I’m really happy to be here,” Charles whispered.

“I’m happy you’re here too,” Mick said, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

Despite Charles only staying with him for three days, Mick was determined to show him as much as possible. They wrapped themselves up in winter coats and walked through the slush and snow so Mick could show him around the streets he’d grown up on, and his favourite places from his own childhood. He had seen so much of Charles’ hometown and he wanted to return the favour. He showed him their horses, tucked away safe in their stable, and had gotten his fair share of amusement seeing Charles’ reluctance when Mick was trying to convince him to feed them. They shared hot chocolate at the Christmas market, and helped Mick’s mum make lebkuchen. That Charles who just weeks ago had been all too happy to skip meals and wouldn’t dream of eating something filled with sugar and butter seemed to be long gone, and Mick was happy to see his cheeks had filled out again and he couldn’t wrap his thumb and index finger around his wrist anymore.

During his last evening there, the five of them were sat around the table having an early makeshift Christmas dinner, and Charles had rather apologetically left the table when his phone had rung with a call from his agent. The moment he was gone Mick felt his father turn to him;

“You’ve got a good one there Mick,” he said quietly. Mick smiled and looked over his shoulder at Charles, who he could just make out from the slightly open kitchen door, his back turned, and his phone pressed to his ear, speaking in muted rapid French.

“Yeah I think I do too.”

“It’s been going good?” he asked, slightly awkwardly. Mick didn’t think he’d ever had a conversation like this with his dad before, but he appreciated him making the effort. As a teenager he had only ever talked about his crushes and adolescent problems with his sister, and maybe his mum. He looked up to his father so much, that sometimes he was in danger of distancing himself from him, turning him into some mythically commanding figure in his life - rather than just his dad. It felt like it was a good moment for the two of them to have. It reminded Mick that his father was human, and he cared about these things.

“Yeah, yeah. Mostly,” he said, not wanting to outright lie and tell him everything had been totally fine, because it hadn’t, “It’s difficult because we can both be super busy, and he works too hard sometimes.”

“You just have to power through it. When you’ve got something worth holding on to, you don’t give up.”

“Thanks Dad,” Mick said, looking a little bashful, but smiling all the same, just as Charles sat back down at the table. He grinned at him as he put his phone into his back pocket again.

“Everything good?” Mick asked him.

“Yeah, yeah. My agent was just saying he’s got my schedule sorted for January and I need to start thinking about which castings to go for in New York and-,” Charles glanced at Mick’s family who were listening to what he was saying with varying degrees of interest, “Sorry, you don’t need to hear my life story.”

“It’s okay,” Mick’s mother said with a smile.

“It’s kind of cool,” Gina added, “More interesting than Mick’s job at any rate.”

Mick stuck his tongue out at her as Charles laughed and picked up his knife and fork again.

Charles’ flight was early the next morning, and Mick woke up with him so he could drive him back to the airport, despite Charles’ insistences that he didn’t need to.

“You’ll see me in a week,” he said as they got into Gina’s car which Mick had been allowed to borrow – under strict instructions that he was to return it in _exactly_ the condition he had taken it in.

“Yeah. But what kind of boyfriend would I be if I made you pay for a taxi all the way to the airport? And didn’t give you a romantic farewell at the departure gate?”

Charles smiled and shook his head in fondness.

They were quiet on the drive to the airport, it was really too early to make any serious conversation. But they were just happy to sit in each other’s silence. Mick got Charles’ suitcase out the boot of the car for him, and wheeled it into the airport. He could see Charles’ slight reluctance to do anything overly affectionate in public, but he could also see how badly he wanted that when they said goodbye.

“My flight’s on time,” he said, flicking his eyes towards the screen above Mick’s head.

“That’s good.”

Charles sighed.

“I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too, but like you said, it’s only a week or so,” Mick smiled, unable to resist reaching out and squeezing Charles’ elbow. Charles glanced down at the hand on his arm, and that seemed to make up his mind.

He wrapped his arms around Mick’s shoulders, and buried his face against his shoulder. Mick ran his fingers through his hair, savouring the feeling of holding him close for a second, before he pulled away slightly, leaving their faces millimetres apart. He wanted to see if he could tell from Charles’ expression whether he was okay to do anything else, or whether this was as far as they could go. In the end he didn’t have to decipher any kind of hidden message from his face, because Charles closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together.

He was very aware of the fact that this was the first time Charles had done something like kiss him in public. It was chaste and quick, but it was what it meant that made it matter. Mick smiled, finding his expression reflected on Charles’ face.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

Mick was pretty familiar with the arrivals hall at Nice Cote d’Azur airport when he landed a few days before the new year. The only difference was this time he wouldn’t be driven to Charles’ little flat overlooking the Plage du Larvotto, but instead to his family home, only a few streets away but somewhere he had never been before.

He now understood how Charles had felt meeting his family as they ascended the echoing stairs to the large two story apartment, which he could already hear the sounds of voices coming from. Charles had warned him that it wasn’t just his mother and brothers that would be there, but his grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins as well. This was clearly the case when they pushed opened the front door and a kid that barely reached Mick’s hip nearly barrelled into him. He hadn’t met Charles’ brothers, but he was pretty sure he was too young to be his younger brother.

“Sorry,” Charles laughed, wheeling Mick’s suitcase along, “They’ll all be gone by tonight, you just came at a busy time. But I guess at least this way you can meet everyone at once.”

Charles placed his bag in his room before he led him out into the large open living-cum-dining room where everyone seemed to be congregating while they waited for dinner.

“Charles!” someone called, waving him over, and Charles pulled Mick by the elbow. He had to guess this was his older brother, though Mick didn’t think they looked particularly alike. The man stood up as they approached and smiled widely, perhaps too widely as Mick shook his hand.

The fact that he seemed to expect to see Mick there meant Charles had definitely told them he was coming. Part of Mick had been scared that Charles wouldn’t have really explained their relationship to his family and he would be some unwelcome surprise. Which in hindsight now seemed a little paranoid.

“This is Lorenzo, my older brother,” Charles said, looking at him like he was daring him to say something teasing or rude.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, eying Mick carefully, not with any particular malice, just like he was trying to figure him out. He recognised it as the same protectiveness that his own sister had over him.

“You too.”

“Where’s Arthur?” Charles asked, looking around like his younger brother would materialise at any moment.

“I think he’s out on the balcony.”

Mick could tell who was Arthur immediately, seeing as he was essentially a shorter, younger version of Charles. The next few hours were a whirlwind of meeting various family members whose names he struggled to remember, trying to offer Charles’ mother some help in the kitchen and being quickly shepherded out with a glass of hot mulled wine in his hand. Then there was the dinner, which went on for a while as Mick struggled to keep up with the rapid French being spoken around him. Charles did his best to translate, but it was slightly difficult with so many conversations going on at once. Not that he minded, Mick was happy to sit back and just observe.

It was past midnight when him and Charles finally collapsed into bed together. Mick didn’t even bother unpacking, he just pulled out a pair of pyjamas and said he would do the rest in the morning. Charles pulled him beneath the thick duvet and instantly snuggled up next to him. It was considerably warmer in Monaco than it had been in Switzerland, but it was still chilly enough for them to feel the need to hold onto each other a little tighter than usual.

“Sorry it was such an intense afternoon,” Charles said, brushing his nose across Mick’s jaw.

“It’s okay. It made it a little less pressure because everyone wasn’t paying attention to me,” he shrugged wrapping his arms around Charles’ back and burying his nose into his dark hair, instantly feeling at home when he breathed in his familiar scent.

“I was paying attention to you,” Charles said, and Mick could feel him smiling against his neck.

“I know _you_ were.”

Charles chuckled a little before he ran his hands down Mick’s chest, slipping his hands beneath his t-shirt and pressing his cold palms against his skin. He pressed a kiss to Mick’s collarbone and he knew where this was going.

“I thought you said your brothers were sleeping next door,” he said, squirming a little.

“But it’s been so long,” he whined quietly, “We can be quiet.”

Mick wanted to say no, only because he didn’t want the potential awkwardness of having everyone know exactly what they were doing. But he always had a hard time saying no to Charles. Especially when it came to sex.

“Okay.”

Charles grinned and moved his hands so he could push down the shorts Mick was wearing until they were somewhere nearer his knees than his hips. He then knelt up and pulled off his own pants. There was something desperate about the way he moved, but Mick knew how he was feeling. Even being apart for a week or so felt like it had been a lifetime when they got each other in their arms again.

Clearly Charles was in as little mood to wait as he was. As soon as they were half undressed it was a case of grinding against each other until they were gasping into each other’s mouths. Charles reached down and took both of their dick’s into his grasp to finish them off. Mick couldn’t suppress the groan that was drawn from the back of his throat and had to bite down on Charles’ shoulder to stop himself from making any more noise.

“You did that on purpose,” he gasped as he flopped back against the pillows, feeling very impressed by Charles’ ability to keep quiet, especially given that he usually seemed to delight in making as much noise as possible.

“Maybe,” Charles shrugged grinning at Mick. He sat back against Mick’s thighs and licking his hand clean like it was no big deal. Charles tended to be like that in bed, both surprising and sweet all at once.

Once he was done he leant forward so he could lie flush against Mick, resting his head on his chest.

“Night.”

“Goodnight Charles,” he chuckled, stroking his hair.

When they got up for breakfast the next morning, Lorenzo was smirking at the two of them very knowingly, making Mick flush bright red and causing Charles to throw a piece of toast at his face. Charles didn’t seem as embarrassed as Mick was, so he wondered whether it just wasn’t as big a deal as if his sister had heard them having sex – the very thought of which made Mick physically cringe.

The next few days weren’t half as chaotic as Mick’s first afternoon in Monaco. Charles’ mother took the two of them out to dinner so she could ask him all the questions he had been expecting. She was kind though, and had a gentle way about her, and reminded him of Charles in more ways than one. Her main concern seemed to be that Mick would be there to take care of her son, should he need it. And while Charles had rolled his eyes at that, they seemed to understand each other perfectly in that regard. Mick wondered if her fears were the same as his when she looked at Charles.

Charles’ brother teased him and joked with him like he was already part of the family. They had been the two people Mick was most nervous about meeting, but they seemed as keen to include him as he was to be liked by them. He enjoyed swimming in the slightly too cold sea with them, and borrowing the scooters so they could drive up the mountains behind the principality and look down at the view from above.

At midnight on New Year’s Eve they watched the fireworks from the balcony of their apartment, and Mick had endured the good natured jeering of Charles’ brothers when he had pulled Charles closer by his hand and kissed him while they listened to the chiming of the bells. Charles had just responded by kissing him harder, making them both laugh until they couldn’t kiss anymore.

He knew they would both be in for a busy time once they got back to Paris, and he wished they could relive the last few weeks over and over again on an endless loop. He loved it when Charles looked so happy and carefree, and he couldn’t bear for reality to come in and try steal it from him, from them.


	13. xiii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one was really hard to write for some reason, but i finished it!!!!!!

The new year hit both Mick and Charles like a speeding bullet train. It was abundantly clear that their short break was over and it was time to get back to the real world. Mick’s work load just seemed to pile up and up and up as a stream of challenges and unforeseen circumstances hit them. His editor had decided sometime over Christmas that he wanted to change the entire look of the magazine layout, which meant Mick and most of the other photographers were sent out to compile a library of brand new stock imagery for the editors to use. For weeks it seemed like there was a never-ending list of tasks for him to do. Not helped by the fact that one of the other photographers left for maternity leave, and another was poached by a rival publication. The two departures seemed to double Mick’s workload, and he found himself going to bed in the early hours in the morning, and getting up far too soon afterwards with the aim of getting work done before he had to actually go to work.

As busy as he was, at least Mick didn’t seem to be under as much pressure as Charles was. They had both expected it, and they knew January would be hard with February being a busy month full of castings and shows across the globe. Mick though Charles was coping well, but it was hard to tell. His agent had taken to calling him daily, reminding him of the schedule Charles already had memorised, and of urging him to contact different people and photographers to get him ready for New York – where he would head to first at the beginning of February. Charles had explained to him that it was a big deal for his agency as he’d never been to work in America before, let alone walk in a fashion week show, and he was relatively unknown across the Atlantic, so it was vital for him to do well.

After New York he would head to London then Milan before finally coming home to Paris. Which meant Mick probably wasn’t going to see him for the best part of a month. Mick wasn’t dreading it because he didn’t trust Charles on his own; he would just miss him, more than he’d have ever liked to admit. He’d gotten so used to having him around, it would be strange to be in the flat without him. He was used to smelling Charles’ coffee when he woke up in the morning, seeing his abundance of gym clothes overflowing out of the washing basket, and hearing him singing slightly off key in the shower when he got home from work. The flat still felt like it was very much Charles’. It was his books on the shelves, and his photos on the walls, Mick just couldn’t imagine living there without him.

It was apparent that for Charles his relaxation time was well and truly over. As soon as they landed in Paris, almost instantly he was back in the gym pretty much everyday, getting new test shots done and being sent out with a long shopping list to buy new clothes that he was supposed to wear to his castings.

“Will they pay you back for those?” Mick had asked as Charles collapsed on the sofa, dropping his bags on the floor with a dull thud.

“I wish,” Charles laughed, leaning his head on Mick’s shoulder.

“How much did you buy?”

“Too much.”

Mick had been expecting it, but he felt utterly helpless as he watched Charles rapidly dropped the weight he’d put on over Christmas. He didn’t think it was just the increased personal training sessions either, Charles was reluctant to let Mick cook for him, or go out for food. And Mick had caught him throwing out the box of chocolates his little brother had sent him home with. He almost said something, but like he every other time, he bit his tongue.

He regularly overheard whispered arguments he had on the phone with his agency. Arguments was too strong of a word, since Charles only ever seemed to be defending himself. One night, just a few days before Charles was due to fly to New York, Mick saw him sat on the side of the bath, his feet soaking in hot, soapy water. He was on the phone, speaking in impassioned French that Mick didn’t fully understand. He could just hear him saying _je ne peux pas_ – “I can’t” – repeatedly throughout the conversation.

“ _Je serai la_ ,” Charles finally said before he hung up, near enough slamming his phone down on the sink as he groaned, burying his face in his hands. Mick coughed from the doorway, getting his attention. Charles looked up, and he struck Mick as on the verge of tears, though he still managed a smile.

“Hi,” he said as Mick walked in the room and knelt down beside him.

“Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah, my feet just hurt. My new trainers are giving me blisters and my trainer sent me out on a five mile run today,” Charles winced as he swirled his feet around in the water. Mick looked down and saw his heels and toes had been rubbed raw, half scabbed over and then cut open again, it made him wince just to look at it. He guessed that might have been the cause of the tears in his eyes. Mick rubbed his hand on his thigh comfortingly.

“That looks painful.”

“It is.”

“How’re you going to walk?” Mick asked looking up at Charles. He smiled ruefully.

“I’ll just have to.”

***

Mick wasn’t ashamed to admit he shed a tear or two after he got back from dropping Charles off at the airport. Their goodbye had been consigned to a quick hug inside the car as Mick’s car idled in the drop-off area.

“Promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I promise Mick. I’ll call you as much as I can.”

While Mick tried to distract himself at home by editing the never ending stream of photos he had waiting for him on his laptop, but he found his mind wandering as he wondered where Charles would be; somewhere over the Atlantic, or in the airport, or maybe already at the hotel he’d be staying in for the next fortnight. His agency had sent him over a week early so he could fit in as many castings and meetings as possible before the actual fashion week. To Mick that just meant he would be away for longer.

Although he had enough work to be getting on with himself, Mick found himself almost constantly checking his phone to see if Charles had messaged him. He was doing a pretty good job of updating Mick on everything he was doing – sending him photos of Central Park on his early morning run, a view of the Empire State Building from the street and way too many photos of the iconic yellow taxi cabs (which Charles seemed very excited to find out didn’t exist solely in films and TV). Mick was a little jealous and relieved. He would have given anything to be there with him. But he was glad he seemed to be having a good time. Mick thought he was probably more worried about the whole thing than Charles was.

When Charles finally had a free evening Mick didn’t care about how late he had to stay up to get to speak to him, or that he had work the next day. Charles had only been gone four days, but Mick was desperate to see his face.

“Charles,” was all he said when his face appeared on his laptop screen. He was sat at the kitchen table, the throw from the sofa wrapped around his shoulders, a cup of coffee in his hand in an attempt to keep himself awake.

“Hi,” he smiled, “Can you see me?”

Mick nodded and took in his appearance. He looked to be already in his pyjamas, despite it barely being eight o’clock, and he was sat in bed, the orange cover pulled over his legs.

“Yeah, yeah I got you.”

“It’s so good to see you,” Charles said, running his hand through his hair.

“Same. You look good.”

“Thanks,” Charles laughed, “I feel exhausted.”

“How’s it been going?” Mick asked, anxious to hear that it was going to plan, that it was all worth it.

“Good, really good actually. I haven’t heard back from anyone yet, they said I wouldn’t until the end of the week but I think they like me. My agent said Calvin Klein were really keen so hopefully it works out,” Charles said, and from his smile Mick could tell he was proud o himself, “Tonight’s my first night off though. They’ve been making me go out with some of the other models from the agency to meet with different people. So I’ve been getting in super late and getting up really early too.”

“That sounds great Charles. You’re doing okay right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I mean I’m tired, and busy. But it’s good. It’s cool here I like it.”

Mick got Charles to tell him all about New York and what it was like. And he seemed happy to recount the things he’d seen, and they kept talking until Mick could scarcely keep his eyes open anymore. Charles promised to speak to him soon, though he warned him that he would be super busy the next week so he couldn’t guarantee he’d have any free time.

“That’s okay. Just go out there and smash it,” Mick said.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The next time Mick saw him was when the photos of the first shows of fashion week started to filter through. He still thought that the Charles on those photos looked something of a stranger. There was always a fierceness in his face, that made him look almost angry, yet Mick would always think he was still strikingly beautiful. He was proud to see him up there, but mostly he just missed him. Mick tried hard not to come off as to clingy, so as much as he wanted to, he held back on texting him every time he saw a photo of him or thought of him – which was way too often. But he still sent him a message each morning when he woke up and every night before he went to sleep.

It was midway through Charles’ second week in New York when Mick’s phone started ringing at nine in the morning on his desk at work. He usually would have ignored it. There was nothing his boss hated more than seeing people on their phones at work. But when he saw it was Charles’ name on the screen, he had picked up his phone and hastily ran to try find somewhere he wouldn’t be caught talking on his phone. He eventually found himself out on the roof, despite the freezing cold wind and the fact that he’d forgotten to take his jacket with him. But it was the nearest place he could get before his phone stopped ringing.

It was only when he picked up that he realised that it had to be almost three in the morning in New York.

“Charles?” he said, his excitement suddenly waning and his confusion growing as his brain raced with a thousand reasons why Charles would be calling him at that time. He scratched the back of his neck anxiously as he heard the muffled sounds of traffic and voices.

Eventually Charles’ voice cut through the noise on the other end of the line.

“Mick!”

Somehow it was a relief to Mick to hear that Charles was quite clearly drunk. He sounded excited to be hearing Mick, but his words were slurred and he giggled in a way Mick didn’t think he’d ever heard him do before. In some ways it was a relief, it meant that his overriding emotion had just been that he missed Mick, or that he wanted to tell him so.

“You okay?” Mick asked, just to be sure.

“Yeah! Yeah, oh my gosh, I’m great!” he said, and Mick could picture him covering his mouth to stifle his laughter. It was a little weird listening to him like this and knowing he was thousands of miles away.

“Good, good,” Mick said smiling a little, before he added, “Are you on your own?”

“ _Miiiiick_ ,” Charles whined, seemingly ignoring his question, “I love you, I really do.”

Mick couldn’t fight the smile on his face, but he had to make sure Charles was alright.

“I love you too. Do you want to tell me where you are?”

There was the sound of coughing, and Mick had to wait a few moments to get his answer.

“I’m, uhhh, I’m outside a club? Yep, yeah I am. It was too…I had to sit down outside.”

Mick nodded, glad to get that much information from him. He was about to ask something else but Charles interrupted him.

“You’re my boyfriend Mick,” Charles giggled again. Mick wondered just how much he’d had to drink.

“Yes I am.”

“I want you. Just you, just you. You know that right? I don’t want anyone else. Screw other people.”

“Yeah I know Charles. Are you on your own?”

“No, no no. I’m with lots of people, they’re really nice. They gave me drinks and-,” Charles interrupted himself this time by bursting out laughing. There was something a little bit frustrating about trying to communicate with him like this, as Mick had no experience of handling him when he was this drunk. He was fully aware that he should be at his desk, and that someone would come looking for him, but he couldn’t hang up until he knew Charles was alright.

“Okay. Well where are they now? Could they get you back to your hotel?”

“Uh…” Charles was cut off by the unmistakable sound of his phone falling onto the floor, he scrambled to pick it up quickly however, laughing away as he did so, “Oopsy! I dropped you!”

Mick couldn’t help but chuckle fondly.

“My head hurts Mick,” Charles sighed, his voice sounding considerably less cheery than it had a few minutes before, “Everything’s spinning.”

“Is there someone you can call? Someone in New York?”

Charles just groaned, a sound of pain and discomfort.

“Charles? You still with me?” Mick tried not to let the panic he was feeling seep into his voice.

“Yeah I’m here…God, I wish you were here,” he said. His voice sounded so quiet and lost that Mick felt himself tear up.

“I wish I was there too.”

“I _hate_ these people Mick. I hate them. I hate them so fucking much,” his voice switched from sad to surprisingly venomous in just a few short words. Mick didn’t quite know how to respond, “They’re not my friends, they don’t care, or they wouldn’t say all this shit, they wouldn’t let people do all this shit.”

“Charles-,”

Suddenly there was another voice on Charles’ end speaking to him in French.

“Pierre?” Charles said, and Mick could tell he was holding the phone away from his face now.

There was a short conversation, the drunken French too much for Mick to understand a word. He was glad Charles didn’t hang up. His mild panic had slipped into full blown worry, and he had to know he was okay before he even tried to get back to work.

“Charles? Charles?”

“ _Oui?_ I’m here.”

“Are you gonna get home okay?”

“Yeah. Pierre is getting us a taxi.”

Mick thought he vaguely recognised the name, but at any rate if would have to do.

“Okay. Just get to bed, get some water, and _please_ text me as soon as you wake up. Or call me. I need to know you’re okay.”

“Yes, Mick I promise-… _J’arrive!_ ”

Then Mick was met with the familiar and awful sound that meant Charles had hung up. He could only stare at his phone for a few minutes, the all too familiar sensation of concern swirling in the pit of his stomach. The thought of Charles alone in that state in a foreign city made his heart clench in fear. There was nothing he could do however, he just had to hope he would get a call several hours later that would tell him everything was okay.

For the rest of the day there was nothing Mick could do to help him concentrate on his work. His restlessness was so palpable that his boss ended up sending him home from work early, realising that he wasn’t of much use sat at his desk chewing on his nails. So Mick was relegated to lying on his bed, turning his phone over in his hands, hoping that the next time he looked at it Charles would be calling. A couple of times he pushed himself to the edge of tears imagining exactly would could have happened. He had never heard Charles speak about anyone the way he’d ranted about how he hated the people he was with, he was always unfailing kind, even about people who probably didn’t deserve it. It was all too much for Mick’s brain to handle, so he found himself calling someone he knew would be level headed and calm no matter what.

“Hello?”

Mick frowned. That had not been the voice he was expecting to hear when he had dialled Maxi’s number.

“Callum?”

“Oh Mick! Hi!” Callum sounded happy to hear from him at least. Mick had done his best to keep in touch with his friends in Milan, but it was difficult, and he probably didn’t speak to them as much as he should.

“Why are you answering Maxi’s phone?”

“Well, he’s asleep. We stayed up kind of late last night, we went out. So he went for a nap. One minute, I’ll get him.”

Mick expected to hear Callum knocking on the door to Maxi’s bedroom, but instead he could just make out the sound of rustling covers and Callum gently rousing Maxi.

“Mick?” Maxi’s voice was sleepy, and it sounded more like yawning than speaking. But it felt good to hear his best friend’s voice.

“Are you in bed with Callum?” Mick couldn’t help but tease when it had occurred to him, his own problems pushed to the back burner for a second.

“…Shut up.”

Mick barked a laugh, able to picture the blush on his face.

“Oh my god. When did this happen?”

“He moved in a few weeks after you left.”

“Moved into your bed?”

“ _Mick._ ”

“Sorry, sorry. I just can’t believe you haven’t told me.”

“We haven’t told anyone. We were waiting for the right time. _Anyway_ , why did you call me?”

It had felt so normal and natural to hear his friends, that when Mick remembered the purpose of his call, it all came flooding back uncomfortably.

“I actually wanted some advice. Or just someone to talk to at least.”

“Oh. Oh okay. Well that I can do,” Mick heard Maxi sit up, clearly settling in to listen to whatever it was that was on Mick’s mind.

It reminded him of the late nights they had spent sitting up in their Milanese kitchen, talking about everything and anything, passing coffee or wine between them. It was good to just spill everything to Maxi. Somehow he was the kind of person Mick couldn’t help but be totally honest with. He couldn’t hold any little detail back. Because he knew Maxi wouldn’t judge, and he wouldn’t laugh at him. There was something in him that made him understand.

He told him about the phone call, and how he couldn’t wrap his head around what it meant. He told him about how he was worried about – no, scared for – Charles, about the blisters on his feet, and the ribs that poked out from under his skin, and the tears he’d cried when he’d just crumbled after their fight. Mick shed a couple tears of his own, hardly realising he was doing it. Clearly he had been holding this all deep within him without even realising. It was a weight lifted off him when he finally finished talking, wiping his face as he waited for Maxi’s response.

“Wow, that sounds…intense.”

“Yeah.”

“Sounds like you really need to talk to him. The real problem is that you’re just working yourself up guessing what’s wrong or what’s happening, and it’s torture because you don’t actually know. If he isn’t going to offer it up, you just have to ask.”

Mick sighed, because really he knew that was the problem. He just needed to hear it.

“You’re right.”

“Aren’t I usually?” Maxi chuckled.

“Whatever. Thank you Maxi.”

“Anytime.”

“Okay but now you have to tell me all about Callum.”

He heard Maxi groaned, but he indulged him anyway. In the end they talked for almost an hour, just filling each other in on everything they had going on. By the time he hung up, Mick felt much better. The problem was still there, but he knew what he had to do when Charles finally came home to Paris. He was just contemplating making himself some dinner his phone buzzed with that much anticipated text from Charles.

 

_So sorry about last night, and for making you worry. I feel rough but I got home okay. I have to rush out, I would call but I’m already late :/ I’ll call you soon I promise. Love you xxx_

 

Mick felt a rush of relief. It wasn’t convincing, but it would do.


	14. xiv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah here we go, we're on a steady downward spiral of melodrama and angst. ur welcome. lmao.

By the time Charles’ third week away was coming to an end Mick was counting down the days until he would walk back through their apartment door again. Since that phone call Charles had only called him a few times, and those conversations had never lasted longer than fifteen minutes. Mostly they kept their conversations limited to texts only. Mick did appreciate that Charles was even busier in Milan than he had been in New York, but at least that was back in familiar ground for the two of them. And he felt a little better to know that he wasn’t an ocean away anymore.

Mick had taken to calling Maxi more often. Since he was the only one who knew pretty much everything that was going on, it felt like he was the only one who could listen to Mick spill his heart out and talk him down off his ledge. Sometimes Callum would offer him some well meaning advice too. But mostly his solutions were a little more…outside the box.

There was one thing he’d said that had stuck in Mick’s mind.

“How much do you actually know about what he does?”

It was true that while Mick understood more than most what Charles’ job entailed, and while he would maybe know who he was working with or who for. Charles always said very little about the actual details of what he got up to, whether that be on a shoot, or at a show. While Mick would reel off anecdotes about what he got up to, Charles rarely would. His life was still something of a mystery to Mick. While he felt like he knew him better than most. There was so much about what he did that Mick had no clue about.

Callum’s words often played round in his head. It meant there was all kinds of horrible and awful ideas floating in his head about just what was going on with Charles. There was something wrong. He had known that since he had watched Charles crying at their kitchen table. It had been weeks since then and it was about time Mick tried to help. What kind of boyfriend was he if he didn’t at least ask? It was Charles’ choice whether he told him anything, but that was a different problem.

***

With Charles due home any minute Mick was trying to sit still on the sofa and get his emotions under control. He was just anxious to see him, to get to reach out and touch him and see that he was okay after all. Of course he was still in the midst of a packed schedule so no doubt he’d be stressed. But to see him smiling would be enough for Mick.

He was unashamedly pacing up and down the living room when he heard the front door open. With absolutely zero subtlety, Mick darted into the hallway to see Charles stood by the door, struggling to pull his suitcase in behind him as he wiggled his keys out of the lock. He must have heard Mick’s footsteps because he looked up, and no doubt saw Mick rushing towards him.

“God I missed you so much,” Mick said, throwing his arms around Charles’ neck and hugging him tight. Charles took a minute to process what was happening, but he returned Mick’s embrace just as intensely.

“It was just three weeks,” Charles said with a little laugh, though Mick could feel that he had been just as desperate to see him.

Minutes passed, but neither of them made a move to let go. Mick didn’t think he could. He could feel Charles’ heart beating through his chest, and his breath tickling the hair behind his ear, that meant he was real, and that this wasn’t just some fantasy. With an incredible strength Mick pulled away so he could look at Charles. What he saw was largely what he expected.

He ran his thumb across Charles’ cheekbone, that sat above the hollow where his flushed cheeks should have been. He suspected if he examined the skin on his thumb then he would see that he had collected some of the thick layer of concealer that sat under his eyes, hiding the dark bruises Mick knew he would find there. Mick pressed a kiss to his sharp jaw, the skin beneath his lips cold to touch. Charles stood perfectly still as Mick ran his hand down the side of his neck, feeling out the bumps where his collarbone jumped out from his skin. He let his hand trail all the way to Charles’ wrist, where he held it, sure that he wouldn’t have to try very hard to snap it between his index finger and thumb. The only reaction he got from Charles was when he took his hand in his and lifted it; he gasped lightly, like he was holding his breath. Mick understood why when he turned his hand over to make out yellowing bruises across the ridges of his knuckles.

“What happened?” Mick asked, kissing each knuckle in turn, feeling Charles’ wide eyes on him.

“Decked it backstage in Milan, I tried to break my fall. Wasn’t very successful,” Charles answered immediately. His answer sounded rehearsed, maybe because he had expected Mick to ask him about it.

Mick stared at his hand until he felt a finger hooked underneath his chin, prompting him to look up. He found Charles’ face millimetres from his own, and he took great delight in the way Charles hungrily kissed him, able to feel exactly how much he had hated being apart. Mick almost got lost in the moment, and in the way Charles’ spearmint breath made his nostrils sting and how his hot tongue sought out his own.

“Do you have tonight off?” Mick asked, forcing himself to pull away.

“No, I only have half an hour here before I have to leave for Saint Laurent at the Palais de Tokyo.”

Mick nodded and finally let go of Charles so he could take his suitcase for him and wheeled it into the living room. Charles followed closely behind him, leaving on his coat and shoes.

“Do you want something to eat or drink before you go?” Mick asked.

“Just water is fine,” Charles answered, predictably.

Mick got him a glass and set it on the coffee table by Charles’ feet as he slumped down onto the sofa. When Mick settled down next to him, Charles instantly leant his head against his chest, sighing and letting his eyes fall shut.

“I wish I could stay longer,” he mumbled, “I don’t even really feel like I’ve come home.”

“Next week can be your real homecoming, when fashion week is over.”

“Yeah. Aren’t you going to be at a few shows this week?”

“A couple. I’ll show you my schedule later and you can tell me if I’m doing any of yours.”

“I hope you are.”

Charles paused for a beat.

“I really missed you Mick, more than I could have imagined.”

“I missed you too,” Mick said. He didn’t need to tell Charles he had been worried sick about him, he suspected he knew that already. Charles gripped onto his jumper tighter, and that was how they sat until Charles got a text telling him his car was waiting for him downstairs. Mick kissed him one final time, wished him luck and then he was gone. If it hadn’t been for his suitcase sitting in the living room, it wouldn’t be hard to believe he had never come home at all.

***

Charles didn’t return until close to midnight. Mick waited up for him, despite knowing that would mean he would be incredibly tired at work the next day. He was already in bed when Charles came trudging through the door and made a beeline straight for the bedroom.

“Evening,” Mick said, putting his phone on the bedside table as Charles sat on the end of the bed, pulling off his shoes. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the light when he’d come in, so they were both cast in half darkness, only the lights from the street below offering them any way to see each other.

“Hi,” Charles said, and it was obvious from his voice how tired he was.

“You okay? How did it go?”

“Really good actually. Anthony was impressed, he even came to find me to say well done,” Charles said, and it was possible to make out the barest hint of a smile on his lips, “He said I was exactly the kind of person he’d always imagined wearing his clothes.”

Mick raised an eyebrow at that. The praise seemed a tad excessive, but Mick had learnt that those creative types in the fashion world tended to speak and think in only the most dramatic of terms. He would know after all, he was one of those types. Once Charles had pulled off all of his clothes, apart from his underwear, he crawled up the bed and shuffled under the covers next to Mick.

“Are you going to bed like that?” Mick asked.

“Yeah. I can’t be bothered doing anything else. I’m exhausted,” Charles mumbled, punching his pillow to try mould it into a more comfortable shape. Mick could see that someone had done a poor job of taking off the makeup he had been wearing, leaving his face streaked with foundation and his eyebrows mismatched; one darker than the other.

“Do you want some food?” Mick asked, as Charles finally lay back, shuffling as he adjusted his position.

“We got invited for dinner after the show, I ate there,” Charles said, rolling onto his side to face Mick.

Mick tried not to let his surprise show on his face. He had heard many jokes about how models were guaranteed to be the cheapest dinner dates, because they wouldn’t order anything at all. Once he had even overheard one agent bragging about how inviting his clients out to dinner was his sure-fire way of finding out how dedicated they were. If they ordered anything more than a salad, they were gone, and if they ordered nothing at all, then all the better for him. Mick remembered how his stomach had churned when he’d heard him laughing, the complete disregard for other people’s wellbeing in exchange for something pretty and fragile made him nauseous.

So Mick didn’t want to call Charles a liar, but that, and the fact that his breath smelt of gum not food, made him doubtful it was the truth. Maybe not because Charles didn’t want to eat, but because he wouldn’t be allowed to.

“Sleep then?” Mick asked, moving down from where he was sat against the headboard. Charles nodded, looking up at him through his long eyelashes.

Mick was out like a light. His body clearly aware he was barely going to get six hours sleep and needing to milk every minute he could afford. Before he finally drifted off he could feel Charles restlessly fidgeting next to him in bed, his fingers holding onto Mick’s. He looked so tired Mick didn’t know how he could be having trouble falling asleep.

He found out pretty soon exactly why Charles was reluctant to fall asleep. Mick didn’t know how long he had been asleep, but it certainly didn’t feel like long. At first he couldn’t figure out what had woken him up as he found himself staring at the drawn curtains, his sleepy brain slow to come into touch with his surroundings. He felt something moving in the bed, jostling him on his side of the mattress. There was a moment of panic, before he sat up and saw that it was Charles, kicking his legs out, his body jerking like he was trying to reach out and hit something. He wasn’t making any noise, his mouth was pressed into a tight line and his eyebrows were knitted together tight, collecting the beads of sweat that was running down his forehead.

With a drowsy lack of urgency Mick reached down to shake his shoulders, trying desperately to rouse him.

“Charles! Charles!” he said, a little louder each time. It took a more insistent shake on his shoulders for Charles’ eyes to snap open and he sat up with a panicked shout, looking around like he expected to be somewhere other than his own bedroom. He didn’t look at Mick, instead he clumsily kicked his legs out from the sheets he had gotten them tangled up in and swung them over the edge of the bed. Mick watched him curled himself into a tight ball, his face almost pressed against his legs, his arms around his head like he was protecting himself from something. The shaky breaths he was taking bordered on hyperventilation, and as much as Mick wanted to take him into his arms he knew that might not be the best thing for him.

Instead he tried to remember what Maxi had told him to do when he’d had panic attacks. With an alertness he hadn’t possessed two minutes ago, Mick jumped up off the bed and headed to the kitchen so he could pour Charles a glass of cold water. When he came back into the bedroom, Charles was still sat in the same braced position, and when Mick slowly walked to his side of the bed, he could see that he was trembling violently.

Seeing Charles like that was enough to break his own heart. And if he felt that bad, then he could only imagine how Charles was feeling. He set the water down on the bedside table and knelt on the floor in front of him, cautious not to touch him in case he panicked him even more.

“Charles?” he said quietly, finding listening to his ragged breaths too torturous to do for more than a few minutes.

He lifted his head, inhaled deeply, held his breath for a second and then exhaled slowly. Mick couldn’t see his expression as he had his head titled up and away from him. Charles held that position so Mick reached out and picked up the glass again.

“I got you some water.”

Charles finally opened his eyes so he could take the water from Mick. He drank thirstily, some of the water splashing over his chin and down his chest due to his haste and his shaking hands. When the glass was empty Charles leaned down to put it on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, his voice sounding rough and scratchy.

“It’s okay,” Mick said, pulling on the edge of the sheet that was hanging off the bed, just to give his hands something to do, “Has that ever happened before?”

Not since he had moved in with Charles had Mick seen something like that happen, so it was either a freak occurrence, born of childhood sleep problems, or if this had developed in the weeks they’d been apart.

Charles just did a funny half shrug that probably meant ‘yes’ but told him very little.

“Do you want to try going back to sleep?” Mick asked gently.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” Charles nodded, swinging his legs back up onto the bed. Mick got in next to him again, and they both lay there for a moment, in awkward stillness.

Mick glanced sideways at Charles, feeling an inexplicable mess of emotions rattling around in his chest. He thought anyone else would look at Charles and see a winning combination of attractive charm and gentle kindness that made him so irresistible. Mick still saw all that, but in moments like this, that was all crowded out by the scared boy he was looking at in that moment. It made him sad to see him so lost and so frightened. He knew he was strong, but they all had their limits.

“Can you…?” Charles started to say, turning to see Mick looking at him.

He didn’t finish his sentence, instead he pulled on Mick’s arm as he rolled onto his side so Mick’s chest was pressed against his back and his arm was looped across his stomach. Mick held onto him tight, trying to let him know without words that he was safe, that he was going to be okay. He used his free hand to brush Charles’ fluffy hair off his forehead, his fingers scratching his scalp comfortingly.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he whispered, kissing Charles’ bare shoulder, trailing his lips down his back, as far as their position would allow him. He only stopped when he was distracted by a change in texture against his lips, different to the smooth feeling of his pale skin. He pulled away slightly, but it was hard to see anything in the dim light. He pulled his arm away from Charles’ torso, letting his fingers trail down the patch of skin where his lips had been a moment ago, feeling out blindly.

“Mick…” Charles said, freezing up, his voice sounding like he was pleading with him.

Eventually Mick’s touch found what it was looking for, and his fingers traced their way along rough lines on his skin that wound from his shoulder blade, down to the tops of his protruding ribs. Straining his eyes, Mick realised why he had no noticed it immediately. Someone had evidently tried to cover the grazes and scratches with makeup, which had been partially rubbed off. His blood ran cold as he felt the length and depth of the cuts, and he could feel his own fingers beginning to tremble as he tried to think where they had come from.

“Charles, who-? What-,” he started, his voice lowered to a terrified whisper. Someone had done this to him. Or something had happened that Charles was neglecting to tell him about. He didn’t know if it had something to do with that phone call from New York, or the bruises on his knuckles. But if he had to bet on it, he would.

“Please Mick. Not now, please,” Charles said, his voice wobbling again.

As scared as he was, Mick didn’t want to upset him anymore given the state he was in. Instead he wrapped his arm back around his body and curled against him again. He couldn’t shake the horrible thoughts from his head, but he screwed his eyes shut, willing his body to just fall back to sleep. So he could wake up in the morning and find that it had all been a horrible nightmare.

When his alarm woke him up a few hours later and he saw the angry red marks on Charles’ back, clearer now in the daylight, he knew his prayers hadn’t been answered.


	15. xv.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea how i wrote this so quickly but there you go.
> 
> also definitely pay mind to the warnings in the tags for this chapter !!

Mick knew Charles was avoiding him. Maybe not because he didn’t want to see him. But definitely because he wanted to avoid answering all the questions Mick had for him. It wasn’t particularly hard for Charles to do that. He was nearly always still asleep when Mick left for work, and he was off somewhere working when Mick came home. It was always late enough when he returned that he could argue he was too tired for any kind of conversation. While the necessity of them talking about what the hell had been going on was clear to both of them, Mick was too wary of Charles’ mood and emotional state to start an argument during one of the biggest weeks in his career.

The scratches on his back had been the final straw for Mick. He wanted nothing more than to help Charles, and he was on the verge of begging him to explain what was going on. But there was something that told him the answer would not be information Charles would easily offer up. Somehow that turned Mick’s worry into paranoia. If something bad had happened, why wouldn’t Charles want to tell his boyfriend? Unless he had done something he shouldn’t, something Mick couldn’t know about. Mick hated that he was starting to think that way. But with no real answers, it was a thought he kept returning to again and again.

The closest they got to spending any significant amount of time together came at the end of the week when Mick finally worked one of the shows Charles was walking in. Of course he didn’t know until he appeared at the far end of the runway, wearing a garishly bright shirt with the collar popped up to frame his face, his already pretty wild hair styled so it was even more voluminous. More than ever Mick felt like he was looking at a stranger. When Mick saw him dressed in his eccentric editorial shoots or wearing the most bizarre haute couture, he was always able to recognise his Charles beneath it all. But now no matter how hard he looked, he saw nothing familiar about the man walking towards him. He knew those eyes, that mouth, the dimples on each of his cheeks, yet now he had fallen so far from him, he had no idea at all who he was looking at. He wondered if Charles recognised his own reflection anymore when he caught sight of it in the mirror.

It was such a thoroughly depressing realisation for Mick that he felt himself lose his composure and focus, and he couldn’t bring himself to lift his camera and take a photo for the entire time Charles was in front of him. He knew his editor would be mad, Charles was definitely a big deal now, and having his face on their pages would sell. But Mick really didn’t care in that moment. He didn’t even notice the handful of tears that slipped down his own cheeks, drying up quickly under the hot, glaring lights of the Palais Garnier.

Mick would have liked very much to leave as soon as the show was over, quickly edit and send the photos he had to the online editor to put on the website, and then fall asleep before Charles got back. But as he was packing away his things he heard someone shouting his name. It wasn’t Charles, that much he knew even before he looked up.

“Mick!” it took him a few seconds to recognise the woman calling his name as one of the representatives of the brand, either a creative consultant, or some other bullshit title. Mick realised he couldn’t actually remember which show he was at, it was Miu Miu or Prada, or something like that, they were all the same to him anyway, and he was too done to care at that point. He recognised her from one of the spreads he had shot for the magazine, she had been there on set to make sure the clothes looked right, and that everything was perfect to please her boss. Mick could relate in that way, and he remembered that while she had been lovely enough to him, but had acted fairly viciously towards everyone else on set. He supposed that was how she survived, by stepping on everyone beneath her.

“Hi,” he said, wracking his brains to try remember what her name was. Luckily it was pinned to her chest on a shiny gold name tag, “It’s good to see you Camille.”

If there was one thing he wasn’t in the mood for, it was pointless networking and schmoozing. But he felt like he didn’t have an escape route out of this one. She started asking him what he thought of the show, and he gave the polite answers, despite not really having understood the ‘energy’ she kept talking about. He realised that somewhere in the middle of her spiel she was asking him if he’d like to come backstage.

“Can I bring my camera?” he asked, thinking that this might be a good opportunity to make up some brownie points with his editors. He didn’t know what, but he was fairly sure rare photos of the dissembling of a fashion show would be useful in some article.

“You are a photographer aren’t you?” she said with a slight glimmer in her eye, actually making Mick chuckle this time.

He took his camera back out of his bag, inserted a new memory card and set off after her. He didn’t know why she had picked him out of all the photographers that had been in attendance, maybe she had liked the work he had done previously, or maybe she just liked him. Either way he wasn’t going to complain. Once she took him behind the line of security, she just waved him on in a way that seemed to indicate that he had free reign.

No one seemed particularly phased about him wandering around with a camera, he guessed the models were so used to be photographed, even if they were in various states of undress. Immediately he was drawn to where the makeup artists were haphazardly cleaning the faces of the various models, removing the masks they had so carefully constructed to create whatever fantasy the designer asked of them. Mick nodded at the man (though he couldn’t have been older than 18) before he snapped a photo, feeling it was common courtesy to do so, though he didn’t so much as bat an eyelid.

Mick moved amongst them all, taking picture after picture of them with half their makeup removed, so their sallow complexions were peeking through beneath the glitter and powder, and there was no hiding the blemishes and scars. It made him oddly angry, to see the truth of the lie they were sold, though he had known it already. And it made him pity them, in the same way he pitied the starved looks in their eyes. Though he knew from experience that many of them had the capacity within them to be unpleasant, and even cruel when they needed to be. Mick had been on the receiving end of a few impressive tantrums even in his short career. It was why he found it so hard to lump Charles, with his impeccable manners and gentle friendliness, in with the rest of them.

But standing in that room, surrounded by tens of other men who looked just like him, in all their emaciated glory, he felt like maybe Charles wasn’t so different. He was just as much a part of this toxic circus as they were. His anger kept him going as he moved on, taking pictures and for once not trying to capture the beauty, but rather the ugliness of it all. He watched, half in horror, half in fascination as one model slapped a stylist when he accidentally stabbed him with a pin whilst trying to remove the carefully positioned clothes. He figured he probably couldn’t use the picture of the red handprint on the stylist’s face, but but he took a photo of it anyway.

He was so in the zone that he didn’t notice that the turned head he was pointing his camera at was Charles’ until he shrugged, a gesture that was so uniquely his, Mick would have recognised it anywhere. Mick didn’t lower the camera initially, he was stood over ten feet away so he couldn’t hear what was being said between Charles and the man he was talking to, especially not over the clattering of hangers and shrill laughter that swirled around him. He watched as Charles laughed and rolled his eyes, kind of like he did when Mick told a really terrible joke, though there was something more exasperated about the way he did it. The man kept talking as Charles turned away slightly and started to unbutton that ugly shirt he was wearing. Mick started to lower the camera, debating whether he should go over. He was glad he decided not to, because he was just about to turn away when he saw the man lean in, running his hands down the flat planes of Charles’ torso and press his lips to the corner of his mouth.

A violent wage of rage and nausea shook Mick’s body, only growing when he saw that Charles’ first reaction was not to push him off, but rather to look around to make sure no one was watching. The man seemed to take the turning of his head as an invitation to kiss his neck, which he did with relish, peppering kisses across his skin in exactly the same way Mick did. He could see disgust and discomfort written all over Charles’ face, but he didn’t make a move to get this man off him. He didn’t see Mick watching, rooted to the spot just metres away though he wanted nothing more than to look away from the man who was all over his boyfriend. It was only when the man pulled away and Charles shook his head, looking red in the face like he was the one who should be embarrassed, that Mick found the energy to walk away, seeking the nearest place where he could be alone.

His heart was racing, the blood rushing in his ears finally drowning out the sounds of everything around him as Mick stumbled through the racks of clothes until he saw a door labelled ‘toilettes’ and he near enough barged through into the mercifully empty bathroom. He gently placed his camera beside the sink, trying not to think about what he had just seen, but helpfully reminded of it every time he blinked. The rational part of his brain didn’t blame Charles in the slightest, he just knew watching that was one of the cruellest things he’d ever had to witness. He felt sorry for Charles, but he felt sorry for himself too.

Turning on the tap, he clumsily splashed his face with cold water, trying to get himself to calm down even slightly. His raging internal monologue was interrupted by the nauseating sound of vomiting and coughing, making Mick jump in the otherwise silence of the bathroom. He glanced behind him and saw that one of the stalls was locked. He wiped at his face, not wanting to be caught in such a mess, but judging from what he was hearing, whoever it was in there was having a worse time than him.

Blatantly staring, Mick watched as one of the boys had a taken a picture of emerged, looking a little red in the face, coughing feebly into the back of his hand. He faltered a little as he made eye contact with Mick, looking at him suspiciously.

“Are you okay?” Mick eventually asked. The boy looked surprised by his choice of words, his surprise quickly turned into a humourless laugh.

“Yeah. It’s just, you know…” he didn’t elaborate verbally, but instead held up two fingers, his index and middle pressed together. Mick just frowned, confused at what he was trying to convey, before it hit him, and he realised just what the boy had been doing behind the locked door.

“Oh,” Mick said, blushing for some inexplicable reason, suddenly feeling like he was intruding on something very private indeed. He looked down, wiping his hands on his jeans self-consciously, but this just seemed to amuse the boy.

“Didn’t know that was how we got looking all nice and pretty for your pictures?” he said, grinning as he gestured towards Mick’s camera with his head. There was something malicious in his expression, like he was blaming Mick for what he’d just done. Mick wanted to tell him if he had it his way, no one would have to do anything to hurt themselves just so they could fulfil some twisted image of beauty other people had in their heads.

Mick didn’t know what to say, but he somehow felt compelled to watch as the boy washed the blood and vomit off his hands, feeling his own stomach churn uncomfortably. The boy didn’t say anything else, he just dried his hands and left, leaving Mick alone. Mick looked up at his reflection, at the flushed face staring back at him. He thought about the boy and the awful self inflicted injury he was doing, it made him think of Charles, wondering if he was doing that to himself too. Maybe they all did, maybe they had to.

The thought of Charles brought fresh images to his mind, of a stranger’s lips pressed against his own, of someone else’s hands grabbing at his body, anyone other than Mick touching him. He shook his head, not sure how he could face Charles after that.

He left in a hurry, quickly and through a side exit so he wouldn’t bump into anyone else he knew. Rather than heading back to his apartment, he caught the metro a couple stops away from home and set himself up in a 24-hour internet café so he could email the photos from the show to his editors. He played around with editing the shots he had taken backstage for a while, mostly trying to waste time. In the end he didn’t send them on to anyone. But rather kept them for himself, resolving that he would figure out what to do with them later.

It was hours later when he finally got home, and as he’d hoped, Charles was fast asleep, stretched out on top of the covers, his arms wrapped around his middle, like he was hugging himself in Mick’s absence. Mick got ready for bed quietly, slipping beneath the cold sheets and trying to relax enough to catch at least a few hours of sleep. He found himself looking at Charles, glad he was getting a few precious hours of sleep, something that had become increasingly rare for him. Trying not to let his emotions get the better of him again, Mick leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, soft enough that it wouldn’t rouse him.


	16. xvi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm very sorry.

It was past lunchtime when Mick woke the next day, it was far later than he would have liked to start his day, but that probably had a lot to do with the fact that he hadn’t gotten home until three in the morning. He hadn’t slept well at all. Even when he was asleep all he could think about was Charles with someone else, letting someone else kiss him and tell him he was beautiful, Charles looking Mick right in the eye, seeing he was there and letting it happen anyway. In his dreams Charles was the one hunched over the toilet bowl, his fingers stuck down his throat, and he would turn and tell Mick that it was all his fault he was like this, that he had made him that way. When he woke up, the sickening fear still running through his body, he knew what he had seen wasn’t real, but the truth was too close to his nightmares to comfort him.

He lay there for a few minutes, letting the memories of the night before wash over him. Maybe Mick should have spoken to Charles sooner, maybe he had left it too late. But he was sure it would have happened anyway, regardless of whether he’d tried to ask Charles about all the other things he had playing on his mind. What had happened last night seemed to trump them all, to Mick at least. He could scarcely think of anything else. While last night he had just felt anger, now he realised that mixed in there was humiliation. He felt utterly embarrassed at having to stand and watch that happen. Even though no one around him understood the context and the gravity of what Mick was seeing, he still felt like a fool. He knew it would hurt Charles to know he had seen, but it had hurt him too. Mick had no idea one person could hurt him that much without even trying to.

There was a moment where he hoped he would be alone in the flat. So he could buy himself just a little bit more time to figure out what he was going to say. He had so much he wanted to talk about, he didn’t even know where to begin. He wanted to get it right, but there wasn’t enough time in the world to help him work out how to approach the seemingly insurmountable lists of problems. It was possible to hear Charles in the kitchen from where Mick lay in bed, running the tap, presumably to get himself some water or make himself a cup of tea. Mick sighed and closed his eyes, trying to work up the courage to walk out into the living room and just talk to Charles. He was a little scared of what his reaction would be when he saw Charles, he couldn’t predict how he would feel once he started talking about it.

Mick managed to waste a little more time by pulling one some actual clothes and attempting to brush his hair. But there was very little he could delay himself with in the bedroom, so after taking a deep breath he opened the door.

Charles was sat on the sofa, a book propped open on his knees, but his eyes were fixed on the steaming mug in his hands, rather than the words on the pages. He looked up instantly when Mick walked in, looking a little apprehensive, biting down on his bottom lip as he met Mick’s eyes. He put the mug on the table and sat up properly, the book sliding off his legs and onto the cushion beside him.

“Hi,” he said, tugging on the sleeves of his oversized powder blue jumper until it covered his hands like a pair of makeshift gloves. He was back to looking like the Charles Mick had always known, but somehow that just stirred even more upset in him. Mick almost felt betrayed, and he didn’t even understand why he was feeling that way, but he found it incredibly hard to keep it together in that moment.

“I saw you last night,” Mick blurted out, unsure why he hadn’t gone for something he had at least planned before hand, why he hadn’t tried to ease into the conversation. But this seemed to be where his heart was leading him, and somehow he knew he couldn’t stop.

“Saw me?” Charles frowned, looking genuinely confused, “Do you mean at the show? I tried to look for you afterwards but-.”

“Not the show,” Mick interrupted, his voice curt and snappy.

“What are you-?” Charles asked, but Mick cut across his again before he could finish his sentence.

“Afterwards, backstage. I saw you, a-and I saw you letting that man kiss you. He was all over you,” he practically spat out the words, like it physically pained him to say them. In many ways it did, to have to relive what he had seen, even if only in his head.

As soon as it hit Charles was Mick was referring to all the colour drained from his face, and he completely froze in place, his hand hovering just millimetres above his leg, his lips parted slightly, a look of panic and embarrassment setting into his face. Mick didn’t know what reaction he had been expecting. The silence he was met with was ten times worse than anything he’d imagined. Because it was real, it meant it hadn’t been some twisted hallucination. It was also abundantly clear from the look on Charles’ face that he had not been planning on telling Mick.

Charles had an expression like he’d been caught in a lie – a lie of omission perhaps – and he looked as though he was desperately dreading having to explain himself. But he didn’t need to, Mick had seen enough to know what had happened, and he knew Charles hadn’t asked for it, and he definitely hadn’t liked it. But all Mick could feel was the way his heart had been torn in two as he’d stood there, forced to watch. It didn’t matter that it hadn’t meant anything, it just mattered to Mick that it had happened at all. It was that feeling that clouded his mind, and was responsible for what he said next.

“Do you know how it felt to watch that? To have to stand there and just accept that it was happening and there was nothing I could do about it,” Mick said, his voice dangerously quiet and level. He felt like a tightly coiled spring, and that at any moment he would be wound too tight and he would completely come undone. He wasn’t thinking straight, he was heartbroken and confused, and he was speaking to Charles like he’d done something wrong.

“Mick I’m sorry,” Charles finally said, his voice a scarcely audible gasp, “I’m so sorry.”

“I felt like such an idiot,” Mick whispered. He should have told Charles he had nothing to apologise for.

“I didn’t ask-I didn’t want him to do that. You don’t…” he could feel the panic coming off Charles in waves, and Mick could tell he didn’t know what to say. He watched as Charles clenched his hands into fists, compulsively running them across his thighs in a clear attempt to ground himself and keep it together.

“I don’t what? I don’t understand?” Mick asked, unable to shake the choked up sound from his voice.

As Charles flinched, Mick knew he was doing this all wrong. He should be calm and understanding, he should be there to comfort Charles, to tell him he was going to help him do whatever he needed. Instead he was stood there, acting like he was blaming him, like he was mad at him. But the words kept tumbling from his mouth, and he couldn’t seem to get them out in the way he meant to.

“Was that the first time that had happened?” it was so blunt the way he asked, and so cruel of him to just demand the truth from Charles. Mick felt like he was watching a stranger possess his body. He knew what this was, it was all the pent up emotion of having to be apart from Charles for weeks and driving himself crazy wondering what was happening. It was pouring out of him like from an open wound.

“No,” Charles’ voice was a terrified whisper, his hands now clutching at the denim of his jeans, holding on so tight Mick thought he was going to rip them. He looked on the verge of falling apart.

“Was that what happened in New York?” Mick asked, the long list of questions that had been racking up over the months still there in his mind. Again, he knew it wasn’t the right thing to say.

“Mick I can’t-,” Charles shook his head, sounding like he was choking on his words, “Please stop.”

He stood up, and when he wiped his face with his shaking hands that was when Mick realised that he had been crying. A surge of guilt hit him, because he knew that was his fault. He took a step towards Charles, expecting him to want to comfort him, to hold him, but as soon as he moved, Charles took a hasty step backwards, hitting his hip off the corner of the sofa.

“No Mick don’t,” he said, holding his hands out, warning him not to come any closer, “Don’t.”

He didn’t seem capable to saying anything else. It was probably a terrible idea, but Mick felt compelled to keep moving towards him, catching his raised wrists in his hands. Something he realised was a terrible mistake when he watched Charles’ eyes widen and his breath catch in his throat.

“Don’t touch me!” he said, his words somewhere between a sob and a shout. He jerked his arms away and then used his hands to lay both his palms flat on Mick’s chest and shove him away. It wasn’t a very forceful push, but it got the message across.

As soon as Mick was more than three feet away Charles turned, stumbling into the hallway, clearly trying to get to the door as fast as possible.

“Charles!” Mick called after him, but there was no response other than his retreating footsteps. After a second when he was rooted to the spot in shock, he hurried after him, just in time to see him pulling on a coat as he left through the door. He didn’t look back, the black wool of the heavy coat swinging behind him.

“Charles!” he shouted again, running out of the door just in time to see Charles descending the stairs as fast as he could. He faltered for just half a second, looking up to see Mick standing in the doorway of their apartment. Mick got one look at his tear-stained face and he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.

He tried to run after him, but by the time he’d run back in the apartment for a pair of shoes and his keys, when he got down onto the street he couldn’t see Charles anywhere. He turned left and started walking anyway, hoping he’d picked the right direction, but after five minutes it became apparent that he wasn’t going to find him. Feeling sick to his stomach Mick pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried calling him. It went straight to voicemail. He could have screamed in frustration. It seemed like in the space of a couple of minutes he had ruined the most precious thing in his life, and hurt Charles more than he could ever imagine in the process.

“ _Scheiße!”_ he shouted, earning himself a few odd looks from passers-by. He couldn’t have cared less.

Mick knew he couldn’t face going back to the flat and having it empty; a physical reminder that he had pushed Charles away. He just carried on walking, aware it was too cold to be outside in just his shirt and jeans, but he wrapped his arms around himself and carried on regardless. He walked until his feet hurt, until he felt blisters on his toes and he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore. He kept walking until he couldn’t bear it. And then realising he had not brought his wallet, he began the long trek home.

The day was well on its way to turning into night when Mick finally reached their building. He half expected he would still be met by that suffocating emptiness, even though it had been hours since Charles had left. So he was surprised when he could hear sounds inside as he tentatively pushed the door open.

“Charles?” he asked, his voice wavering.

There was no reply.

As he walked into the apartment there was no one in the living room, but he could see a light on in the bedroom and someone moving around inside. He caught sight of Charles through the crack in the slightly open door, moving around the bed, carrying something.

“Charles?” he said again, before he tried to open the bedroom door.

Again, he didn’t reply.

When Mick finally pushed the door open his eyes were immediately drawn to the open suitcase on the bed, filled with clothes. Charles had his back to him, pulling a pair of shoes out of the wardrobe with an incredible haste. Mick watched, dumbstruck as he shoved them into the suitcase and started to attempt to zip it shut.

“Where are you going?” Mick asked, doubtful he would even get a response.

“Berlin,” Charles grunted, his voice sounding tired and angry. He looked even worse than he had when he’d left the flat, his skin was pale and drawn and his eyes were puffy and red. Mick wanted to cry just looking at him.

“What? why?”

“I have a job there in a few days,” Charles said, still not meeting Mick’s eyes as he finally succeeded in closing the suitcase.

“When will you be back?”

Charles just shrugged, hauling the suitcase off the bed and walking towards the door, his gaze still averted.

“Charles I’m sorry.”

He said nothing, just pushed past Mick and started to wheel his suitcase through the living room.

“Charles, please,” Mick’s voice broke as he spoke. But Charles carried on into the hallway and a few seconds later Mick heard the front door slam.

The enormity of the events of the day hit him like a speeding bullet train, knocking all the air out of his chest and forcing him down onto the floor. Mick sat there and cried.


	17. xvii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> before we start i just wanted to say thank you so much for all the comments and reads and kudos etc. i honestly appreciate them so much, especially as we're starting to get into the home stretch of this fic :)
> 
> also you can find me on tumblr at charlesleclerc (if you’re at all interested)

If Mick had thought the three weeks Charles was in New York and Milan had been torture, it was nothing compared to what followed their fight. Mick wasn’t even sure you could call it a fight, whatever it had been, it threw his whole life into permanent disarray. He gave up calling Charles after the first week. After more voicemails than he cared to count it became clear that he wasn’t going to pick up. The desperate messages he left switched from tearful and embarrassing to his best attempts at sounding calm and collected. He didn’t get a response to any of them. He didn’t even know where Charles was in the world, sure he had gone to Berlin, but usually his jobs didn’t last more than a few days, so clearly he had gone somewhere else afterwards. Mick hoped he had just gone home to Monaco for a few days, but he didn’t dare call his brothers or mother to find out.

It was a month before he heard anything.

***

For the first few weeks Mick tried to busy himself with his work; taking on more and more hours, volunteering for extra jobs, and even spending hours updating his website, mindlessly changing the layout and uploading photos. It was all just distraction tactics. It was bad enough being home alone in the flat, but it was worse when he had nothing to do but think about the fact that Charles wasn’t there. When he lay in bed at night, too small for the king size double, he felt was guilty and lonely. It was eating him alive from the inside out. He could work as much as he looked, but it wouldn’t fix the problems in his personal life.

It didn’t help that he didn’t exactly have a wide circle of friends in Paris. So there were people he knew, that he could go out for drinks with and have a laugh with, but not real friends. No one he could sit down and tell them that he’d yelled at his boyfriend because someone else forced themselves on him, and that he thought he was starving himself for his job, and that he had returned home from work abroad with more than one unexplained injury. That didn’t even begin to cover the fact that people didn’t actually know who his boyfriend was. And if they did that was even more reason why he couldn’t tell them these things.

In the end he found himself calling Maxi and asking him if he could stay for the weekend. And like Mick knew he would, he agreed instantly.

Mick took the Friday off so he could catch a flight to Milan. It was all a bit excessive and expensive, but Mick would have done anything to take the edge off the loneliness. Maxi – and Callum too, he supposed – understood, and he thought they might not hate him for what he’d done. He couldn’t call his sister or his parents, he couldn’t even begin to explain to them how complicated it was. And he couldn’t bear for them to be disappointed in him.

It was equally strange and familiar when he arrived in Milan. It had been so long since he’d been there, yet it had been his home for months. But there was no sight more welcome than Callum and Maxi stood waiting for him as he walked through arrivals carrying his heavy rucksack. They’d even created a makeshift sign with his name on it, made from letters cut out of newspaper and magazine headlines and stuck on a piece of cardboard, which made it look a little (or a lot) like a threatening letter from a serial killer. Mick didn’t care that they looked crazy, it just made him laugh.

Dropping his bag to the floor with a loud _thump_ , he flung his arms around both of their necks, pulling them into a group hug whether they wanted to be part of it or not. They both responded in kind, hugging him just as tightly. It felt so good to see them, and to have them there where he could feel them, that Mick felt himself starting to cry.

Crying seemed to be all he was good for at the moment.

“Woah, I didn’t know you’d be that happy to see us,” Callum laughed, ruffling his hair fondly. Mick blushed, batting his hand away.

“Come on, we’ll pick up something strong to drink on the way home and you can tell us everything,” Maxi said picking up Mick’s backpack for him.

Being reunited with his friends felt like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders. His long list of problems still existed, and he could feel them hovering over him like some dark, oppressive force. But he could ignore them for a few seconds, and he felt like he wasn’t quite so alone anymore.

Maxi drove them to a supermarket near their flat in the centre of Milan, a place that had once been the scene of many late night trips for snacks and booze for Mick. Him and Callum chatted away at him, filling him in on everything he had missed since he had been away. And Mick was happy to just listen to their stories. He couldn’t help but notice how much closer they seemed – though he had expected that. He could tell they were holding back a little on being too open about their feelings for each other, and Mick didn’t know whether that was because they weren’t sure themselves yet or for his sake. He was definitely happy for them, but he was glad for their tact, whether it was intentional or not.

Callum chose a couple of bottles of wine, while Mick also picked up a bottle of tequila on their way to the till. He saw Maxi look at him out of the corner of his eye.

“You haven’t actually heard what happened yet. Trust me, I’ll need it,” Mick said grimly.

Walking back into what had been his apartment, Mick was hit by a dizzying sense of déjà vu, especially given that it had changed very little in his absence. All of his things were missing, and in their place were Callum’s, but besides the obnoxiously large box of tea bags on the kitchen counter, it was hard to tell he’d ever moved out. Mick dumped his bag in his old bedroom, which had turned in Callum’s, and which he had been offered for the two nights he would be staying. It was clear that while Callum’s things were in there, he didn’t actually sleep in there all that often; the sheets looked like they hadn’t been moved in some time, and the wardrobe was half empty. Somehow Mick didn’t expect that he would be sleeping on the couch that night.

When he came back into the living room he saw that the other two had set themselves up on the sofa, and Maxi was busying pouring three equal glasses of red wine. Mick took his own instantly, and drank a rather large gulp as he sat down on the floor, his back leaning against the coffee table.

“So…do you want to get straight into what happened that made you call us and ask to stay so last minute?” Maxi said, sitting back against the cushions, his own glass of wine in his hand, letting Callum rest his feet on his lap.

“Me and Charles had a fight,” Mick said taking another sip of wine.

“We figured that much,” Callum said, smiling humourlessly. He might have teased Mick any other time, but he seemed to be able to sense just how upset he was.

“It was really bad,” Mick said, looking up at his two best friends. Maxi nodded as if to encourage him, and Mick took a deep breath before he launched into his story, starting with Charles coming home with those strange marks on his back, the nightmares he’d had, and ending with what Mick had seen at the fashion show and the terrible way he’d gone about approaching the subject.

“I was trying to talk with him about it, but I didn’t let myself calm down and I just ended up coming across as angry. And I think he thought I was blaming him for it, and acting like he cheated on me or something. But I don’t think that. And I just did it all wrong, and I’m pretty sure he hates me.”

By the time Mick finished his long winded speech his wine glass was empty and he reached into the carrier bag at Maxi’s seat to pull out the bottle of tequila. He poured a generous shot into his glass and downed it, somehow relishing in the burning in his throat.

“Gimme some of that,” Callum said, reaching his hand out, “That was so much information to process.”

Mick watched him pour himself a measure and then offer it to Maxi, who declined. Maxi was looking at Mick intently, studying him like he saw right through the physical aspects of him, and right into all the gears whirring in his mind, like the insides of some malfunctioning watch.

“You know you fucked up,” he said evenly, more of a statement than a question.

“Yeah I know. I fucked up big time,” Mick said, sounding as miserable as he felt.

“Have you tried calling him?” Callum asked.

“At least forty times. I stopped after a week or so. He hasn’t even been reading my texts, I think he just deletes them as soon as he gets them. Or maybe he’s blocked my number.”

“Do you even know where he is?” Maxi asked.

“Not really,” Mick shook his head, “I mean, it’s not too difficult to find out. Someone’s still updating his Instagram, and if you Google his name he pops up in some different European city every few days. But I don’t have a clue what he’s doing.”

Mick could feel the alcohol hitting him, slowly but surely all at once, after having drunk it so quickly. Sluggishly, he poured himself another glass of wine, trying to ignore the fuzzy feeling in his head. It was a slightly numbing sensation, and he felt like he needed that. He looked over the rim of his glass at Maxi, who was eying him with a slightly pitying expression.

“I’m just scared for him,” he admitted quietly, “We still haven’t talked about everything else, and I don’t even know what’s going on really. But I don’t think he’s in a good place.”

“I wish I knew what to tell you,” Maxi said, smiling at him sadly.

“You don’t have to say anything, it’s enough for you guys to let me stay. It’s awful at home with Charles not there, and I don’t really have anyone in Paris I can talk to about this.”

“The downside of having a super secret supermodel boyfriend?” Callum joked, trying to lighten the sombre mood that had settled over the three of them.

Mick snorted and shrugged. Then, suddenly desperate to claw back some normality and change the topic, he looked up at the two of them, the barest glint of mischief in his eye.

“What’s the downside of having the tall and dashingly handsome German sat on your right as a boyfriend then?” Mick asked, looking at Callum squarely, enjoying the way his expression faltered a little.

“We’re not boyfriends!” Maxi hurried to explain at exactly the same time Callum said;

“His huge dick.”

Mick choked on his drink as Maxi turned beet red and looked at Callum, his mouth hanging open in appalled shock. He looked completely lost for words as Callum just shrugged at him. Once Mick stopped coughing, he found that he couldn’t stop laughing, mostly just at Maxi’s expression and the not-so-innocent way Callum was looking back at him.

“That’s way too much information,” Mick said, in between breaths of laughter.

“You did ask,” Callum said, as though the answer he had given was the same as anyone else’s would have been.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Maxi mumbled, finally picking up the tequila and taking a swig straight from the bottle.

“You should take it as a compliment,” Callum said.

“Why is it the downside of dating me then?!” Maxi asked incredulously.

“It’s intimidating!” Callum protested, their strange and petty argument sending Mick into another fit of laughter.

They stayed up for several more hours, talking about the less depressing aspects of their lives. And by the time Mick curled up in his old bed, listening to the sounds of the perpetually busy street outside and Callum stumbling about as he made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he felt a lot better than he had done for the past few weeks. It was clear he just had to wait for Charles to reach out to him, if he ever did.

Maxi popped his head in the door just as Mick switched his phone off and was about to turn over and go to sleep.

“I was just checking you were okay?” he said.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Gonna have one hell of a hangover in the morning though.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Maxi laughed before adding more seriously, “It’ll work out alright in the end Mick. I know it’s difficult, but you’re made for each other, anyone can see that.”

“ _Danke Maxi_ ,” Mick said genuinely, smiling gratefully.

***

The rest of Mick’s weekend in Milan was spent frequenting all the spots they used to hang out, and spending Saturday night in a similar state to Friday; a little too drunk and going to bed way too late. As Mick packed to go to the airport, he vowed to himself that he would make an effort to visit Maxi and Callum more often. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed them until he’d seen them standing in arrivals, and that weekend had been the best few days he’d had since he’d come back to Paris in the new year.

“You should come again soon,” Maxi said as they all stood in the hallway of the flat, his arms wrapped around Mick’s shoulders.

“You’re welcome to borrow my room whenever,” Callum said, smiling at Mick.

“It doesn’t look like you use it much anyway,” Mick laughed as he felt Maxi hit his back half-heartedly.

Maxi pulled away, just as Mick felt his phone start to buzz in the back pocket of his jeans. His heart leapt, as it always did whenever he got a text or a call, hoping that it would be Charles. With an ill-disguised haste he pulled it out, feeling disappointed but not surprised to see that it wasn’t Charles who was calling him, but rather some unknown number he didn’t recognise. He almost declined it, figuring that if it was important they would leave him a voicemail. But something in him made him hesitate and accept the call anyway, feeling Maxi and Callum watch him looking slightly confused.

“Hello?”

“Hi Mick?” a vaguely familiar voice said on the other end of the line, sounding unsure about whether they were speaking to the right person.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh okay thank god. I wasn’t sure whether I had the right number.”

Mick’s frown deepened, unable to work out who it was that was calling him. His first instinct was that it was someone from work, or someone he had worked with in the past. But he couldn’t then work out why the voice sounded so panicked.

“It’s Lorenzo, Charles’ older brother. We met at Christmas time?”

 _Oh_. He was probably the last person Charles expected to hear from. For one heart sinking moment he thought he was about to ask where Charles had been, and tell Mick that he hadn’t heard from him in a month. And Mick would have to tell him that he’d been in the exact same boat. He had been scared of a conversation like this for weeks, of finding out that Charles had gone completely off the grid. He hadn’t even prepared for what Lorenzo was about to say next.

“Oh hi. What’s up?” he said, trying to keep it casual.

“I-it’s Charles,” Mick felt his blood run cold as Lorenzo’s voice cracked, “He’s uh, we’re in London, he passed out at a photo shoot, and now he’s in hospital. It’s really bad, it’s not just-…I can’t explain it over the phone but he needs you here.”

Mick felt a wave of dizziness wash over him and his vision was obscured by fuzzy black dots for a second. He grabbed onto Maxi’s arm to keep himself upright, staring at his friend but not really seeing him as he tried to process what he had just been told.

“Hospital?” was all he could say, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah. I just, I don’t really know what happened, but I thought you should know, and I thought you’d want to be here.”

Mick looked at Maxi who was watching him with concern. He just shook his head, clutching onto his phone tighter.

“I’ll be there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies for the cliffhanger ;)


	18. xviii.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've passed the 50k mark!!
> 
> also, warning: like all of this chapter takes place in a hospital and there's some discussion of medical things and eating disorders (not really too much because i don't understand science) and if any of that's not really your jam then i wouldn't recommend.

Mick’s unplanned trip to London happened in a bit of a blur. He remembered Callum pulling up his laptop and booking him on the next available flight to London City Airport, and then there was the hurried call he made to his boss, telling him that he was going to need a couple more days off work. He could remember Maxi dropping him off at the airport, and boarding the plane, and standing in line, anxiously waiting for get through the border. But everything in between was hazy. He moved through the motions of it all as though he was in a dream, knowing that if he stopped to think for too long, he would freak out and he probably wouldn’t be able to get going again.

He tried desperately to sleep on the plane journey, to just let the hours pass by him unnoticed. But no matter how hard he buried his head in his hands and clenched his eyes shut, he found it impossible to drift off when his mind was running at a hundred miles an hour and he felt like he was on the edge of the nervous breakdown. He was terrified of what was waiting for him in London, yet he was also desperate to know what had happened.

Lorenzo had messaged him the name of the hospital Charles was at, and once he landed in East London, Mick started the hour long tube journey to get to Chelsea & Westminster Hospital. He had to haul his heavy rucksack up and down escalators, and through crowds of enthusiastic tourists. When he found himself outside the modern and typically clinical building, Mick was hit by a wave of nerves that almost made him lose his balance. Charles was somewhere behind those white walls and glass windows. It would be terrifying enough having to see him after all those things he’d said, and after so much time. But it was made all the more complicated by knowing that something was really wrong.

Summoning up the last dregs of courage he could find, he marched through the front doors and up to the receptionist to tell her who he was there to visit. He directed Mick to a long corridor to his right, telling him that he could ask the nurse stationed there which ward Charles was in. Clutching onto the straps of his backpack a little tighter, Mick began his slow walk feeling more apprehensive with every step he took.

In the end he didn’t have to attempt to find another member of staff, because sat outside in the middle of an uncomfortable looking row of chairs was Lorenzo, holding a paper cup of coffee to his chest.

“Lorenzo?” Mick said quietly, feeling like it would be rude to speak too loudly in the almost silent corridor. His head snapped up, and Charles’ older brother looked relieved to see him.

“Oh thank God you’re here,” he said, standing up and placing his coffee on the floor, “That was quick.”

“Yeah,” Mick nodded, not really in the mood for small talk, “Where’s Charles?”

“Just in there,” Lorenzo nodded his head towards a set of closed wooden doors opposite them, “They’re just running some checks, so they told me it was better if I waited out here.”

Mick took his backpack off his aching shoulders and asked the single question that had been weighing on his mind since he had gotten that phone call;

“What happened?”

Lorenzo, who had been in the process of picking up his half empty cup of coffee, sighed heavily. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a day or so, and as though the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. Mick briefly wondered why he was there, and not Charles’ mother. He wondered if Lorenzo had a clue that Charles had gone off the grid, and that Mick hadn’t actually heard from him in weeks, and that there was no guarantee that his presence would be at all welcome. He had no idea how much Lorenzo knew about what had been going on with Charles.

“Well, uh, he was on a job here, and he said he just tripped over something and fell. But whoever brought him in told the doctors that he passed out,” Lorenzo picked at a loose end on the wrapping around his cup, refusing to meet Mick’s eyes, “But that’s not the real problem.”

Mick swallowed hard, half wishing he could clamp his hands over his ears and not listen to what was about to come out of his mouth. But he knew it was probably better to hear it now, before he went in to see Charles. At least then he could prepare for what he might see.

“He broke his ankle when he fell. When the doctors saw it, they said he shouldn’t have broken it so badly from what they’d been told he’d done. So they took him for a scan and they said he has the early signs of osteoporosis.”

Lorenzo’s voice cracked here, but Mick was a little lost.

“Osteoporosis?” he didn’t recognise the word in English, but he could tell from the reaction it had stirred that it couldn’t be anything good.

“It’s, um, it means his bones aren’t strong enough, they’re too weak, too thin. It’s usually something that older people get.”

“Well why does…?” Mick started to ask, noticing that his voice had dropped to a scared whisper, and he sounded like a lost little boy, especially compared to the man sat next to him.

“He weighs so little, the doctors think he’s not being getting enough…well enough food, period. He’s basically malnourished. Considering his profession, they think he probably has an eating disorder. But they won’t know until they talk to him. They’ve just been trying to sort out his ankle at the moment.”

In many ways, Mick had been expecting this. But hearing it said to him still made his heart sink. He had to look down and collect himself for a moment, feeling the lump forming in his throat. The broken bone was one thing, if things were really bad, there was no telling how many other complications and problems there would be. He looked up again when he realised Lorenzo had started speaking again.

“If that is the problem, then we’ll have to take him somewhere for treatment, once he can travel with his ankle. Probably back to France, or somewhere else I don’t know. And I’ll have to tell _maman_ ,” as he said the last sentence it suddenly seemed to occur to him that was something he’d have to take care of, “God. I’ll have to tell _maman_.”

“I’ll help,” Mick said, though he didn’t really know what he was offering to do, he didn’t know the first thing about starting to fix this. Lorenzo smiled anyway.

“Thank you.”

The two of them stood up as the doors opposite them swung open. The doctors seemed to recognise Lorenzo but gave Mick a questioning look. They didn’t say anything to him however.

“We’ve set and dressed the bone, we’d like to keep an eye on it but it should be fine to heal like that. It’s hard to say how long it will take with his current condition,” one of the doctors said, in a very straightforward manner.

“Can we see him?” Mick blurted out instantly. The doctor gave him an odd look before answering.

“He looks about ready to go to sleep, but yes. Visiting hours finish at eight though.”

Mick nodded and waited for the doctors to move out of the way before he hurried through the doors to find Charles. He saw Lorenzo hang back to speak to the doctors. Maybe Mick should have waited to see if he wanted to come in too, but he was so anxious to get a look at Charles he couldn’t.

There was more than one bed in the room, but it was mostly empty. One bed by the window was occupied by an elderly lady, propped up in bed with a newspaper lying across her lap. The only other bed in the room that had anyone in it sat in the middle of the rows. Mick hesitated before stepping closer, knowing that it was Charles there, even if he couldn’t see his face.

His left leg was propped up, heavy strapping wrapped around his lower leg and foot. And from a distance he could tell them he was lightly sleeping. Mick kept quiet as he edged closer, not wanting to disturb him because he was probably exhausted. But also aware that if Charles was awake then he might get a reaction that he might not like so much.

Mick perched himself on the chair on the far end of the bed, positioned so he could see Charles’ face. He hadn’t thought it possible, but he looked worse than he had when he’d got home from Milan and New York. His face was pale, and the dark bruises under his eyes that were usually concealed weren’t hidden now, his cheekbones and jaw seemed even more pronounced than usual, and Mick could just see sections of his collarbone jutting out where his hospital gown didn’t cover him. But what really made shocked Mick was his hands. Lying limp by his side, they looked so small and fragile, the skin wrapped so tightly around each finger that it looked as thought it was translucent. Mick reached out and lightly brushed his own fingers across the back of Charles’ hand, and he was struck by how cold he was.

He looked back up at Charles’ face and when he saw Charles green eyes staring back at him, looking mostly confused, Mick knew he couldn’t stop himself from bursting into tears. It had been so long, and he could feel everything that had been brewing inside his chest for the past month come pouring out. It hurt to see Charles like that, and it hurt to know he could have done something sooner to stop it from getting this bad, it hurt to know he hadn’t been around for the past month. It felt like he had abandoned Charles, and somehow he was to blame.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he gasped out in between ill-suppressed sobs, “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to…”

Mick took a shaky breath, taking his hand off Charles, suddenly irrationally scared of hurting him. Like he would break and crumble if Mick held on too tight.

“I said it all wrong. I was too upset and it all sounded like I was mad at you. But it wasn’t you I blamed. I was just so scared, and worried. God I’ve been so worried about you for so long. And I should have said something sooner.”

He pressed a hand over his mouth, very much aware that they weren’t alone in the room, and that the doctors and Lorenzo could probably hear him from the hallway outside. Charles was still staring at him like he couldn’t believe he was there, and perhaps a little overwhelmed by Mick’s emotional outburst.

“What are you doing here?” he finally asked, and his voice sounded so thin and strained. Mick hoped it was just the pain from his ankle, and the exhaustion of everything that had happened.

“Your brother called me,” Mick said, hiccupping a little, trying to get himself back under control. Charles nodded, glancing towards the open doorway, where it was just possible to make out Lorenzo’s side profile.

“How’s your ankle?” Mick asked awkwardly, suddenly desperate to focus on the easier issue at hand. It was cowardly, and it was him running away from the real problems, again. Yet they were facing him more obviously than ever.

“Broken,” Charles said, a faint smile on his face, “It doesn’t hurt so much now they’ve set the bone.”

Mick looked down at his lap, avoiding Charles’ gaze as he spoke again;

“Lorenzo said it was ost-...ostop…I can’t remember the word,” Mick struggled to remember the long English word Lorenzo had used, making him sound more stuttering and nervous.

“Osteoporosis,” Charles finished the sentence for him, Mick didn’t look up, but he could hear how his voice had gotten tighter.

“He said it was because you hadn’t been eating enough,” Mick said, his voice getting even quieter.

“Mick.”

“I should have talked to you about this sooner, I knew something was going on,” Mick said, looking up even though he felt tears welling in his eyes.

Charles looked like a child caught doing something he shouldn’t. Mick could see how he gripped onto the bed sheets with his small fists, looking tense and nervous. Mick wanted to do anything to soothe him, but the easiest way to do that would be to stop talking about this, and he couldn’t do that.

“Will you tell me what’s been going on?” Mick asked trying to make his voice sound level and calm. Charles swallowed and a single tear slid down his cheek, shining against his white skin.

“I didn’t mean for it to get like this, I had to do it,” he said, and he looked like he was about to say more but he was distracted by Lorenzo approaching the bed, looking like he didn’t want to interrupt the two tearful looking boys. Charles smiled slightly, as Lorenzo knelt on the other side of the bed, taking Charles’ hand in his own. In that moment he was such a calming presence, even Mick was glad to have him there, though he wasn’t Mick’s own older sibling.

He started talking to Charles in slow, calm French, Mick listening closely to see if there was anything he could pick up. He understood that he was telling Charles what the doctors had told him, but there were too many complicated words he didn’t know for him to understand what he was explaining to him. He saw Charles’ face fall however, so whatever it was that he was being told couldn’t have been nice.

“ _Non Lorenzo, je ne veux pas_ ,” he shook his head, looking like he was pleading with his brother.

“ _Tu n’as pas le choix_.”

_You have no choice._

Charles slumped down further in the bed but seem to accept it. Mick reached out to stroke back of his hand, trying not to cringe at the way he could feel the bumps sticking out from his skin.

 “What is it?” he asked quietly, looking at both of the brothers.

“They want to put a, uh, tube into his nose and down his throat. I don’t know how you call it in English. It’ll basically feed him food without him having to eat,” Lorenzo explained. Mick didn’t think it sounded pleasant, but it certainly sounded better than having to go through a fight, should Charles refuse the food he was given, “It’s an emergency measure but…”

“When?” Charles asked, not looking at his brother, but rather the frayed end of the blanket that was wrapped around him.

“As soon as possible, they’re going to come back once they have everything,” Lorenzo said, before he looked at Mick, “They said we should go and just come back tomorrow.”

Mick felt cheated on having his time with Charles cut so short. But he understood that helping him had to come first. Charles looked as sorry as Mick felt that he couldn’t stay longer.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can tomorrow,” he said standing up so he could lean over so he could kiss his forehead.

They had barely begun to talk about everything they needed to, and Mick knew they had so much more to say.

***

Mick ended up getting there later than he intended to, having to deal with an angry phone call from his boss about where he was and just how long he would be gone. Mick appreciated that his message had been vague, and he couldn’t really explain exactly why he had to take a couple more days off work. He settled for telling him that it was a family emergency, which he supposed wasn’t too far off the truth.

It took him longer to get there too from the crappy hotel he’d booked last minute, so when he arrived Lorenzo was already sat at Charles’ bedside. They both looked up and Mick felt his stomach clench when he saw the thin plastic tube that was coming out of Charles’ nose, and stuck to his cheek with a large brown plaster to keep it in place. It reminded Mick of the way doctors would give oxygen to seriously ill patients. Then it struck Mick, Charles was seriously ill.

“Hi,” he said, taking the seat he had vacated the day before on the opposite bed of Charles’ bed.

Charles looked pleased to see him, but there was an underlying sense of stress and exhaustion, and Mick could tell that the strain of what had pushed them apart had not disappeared. Maybe Charles hadn’t forgiven him. He wouldn’t blame him if that was the case.

Lorenzo started to fill him in on everything that had been arranged overnight, which seemed to be a lot, given that it had scarcely been a day since he had last seen him. Mick sat and listened as Lorenzo told him how he had called their mother, and agreed that Charles needed specialised treatment, that he couldn’t stay in England, that he needed to be somewhere closer to home. Charles stayed silent throughout the whole thing, as lists of treatment centres and doctors were listed to him, as it was explained to him that the ankle was a secondary problem, that if he was well enough to get on a plane then he should. He didn’t resist any of the plans, but Mick could sense there was something in him that hated it. He hated it all being arranged without him, and he hated that he had very little choice in all of it. And that it was all happening so quickly.

At some point Lorenzo’s phone rang and he left the room to go answer it. Charles turned to Mick and frowned lightly.

“It’s for the best,” Mick said gently, reaching out with the intention of stroking his cheek, but he ended up tracing his thumb across the thin tube that ran across his face. Charles reached up to touch his palm, a pained expression crossing his face.

“They don’t understand, you don’t understand,” Charles whispered.

“We just need you better. You’ll get to go somewhere where they do understand. When you’re there I’ll come visit and we can talk about everything.”

“We need to,” Charles nodded.

“And we will.”

“I’ll explain everything. I promise.”


	19. xix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok, this chapter is obnoxiously long. as is this author note.
> 
> but i finally wrote a chapter from charles' pov and i knew this would happen when i did this. it doesn't cover absolutely everything in this fic, but it's main purpose is to fill in the gaps missing from mick's perspective.
> 
> major trigger warning: sexual assault/harassment and eating disorders  
> \- i have been fairly vague about the descriptions of sexual harassment/assault, but it's very much a focus point of charles' story. so while it is not graphic or detailed, it is present throughout.  
> \- the descriptions of the eating disorder are far more detailed than they have been before, and discuss a lot more in depth the disordered thoughts and behaviours. but i've avoided 'number talk' cos let's be real, no one needs that.
> 
> i've tried to be accurate and i have done my research on everything i've written about in this chapter, as i didn't want to just gloss over it and treat it poorly. and i was lowkey nervous about posting this chapter because i really wanted to get it right. so i hope it lives up to expectations.  
> (also this is going to be the penultimate chapter, and there will just be an epilogue following this)
> 
> thank you once again for reading!

Charles stared out the window, and he was struck by how beautiful the scene before him was, but how little it affected him. He could see the hills, and the grass, and the mountains, but the only thing that stirred any kind of a reaction in him was tall fence around the perimeter of the clinic. It was made to stop people from getting in, trying to catch a glimpse of the people paying tens of thousands of euros a week to stay there. But every time Charles looked at it, he felt as though it was keeping him in.

He had been there two weeks. Quite literally hidden away in some remote part of eastern Switzerland, on the outskirts of St Gallen, nestled along the northern edge of the Alps. He hadn’t been allowed visitors, not while he got settled. He accepted that he had to be there, and he understood that it was good for him. But he didn’t like that he hadn’t seen his own mother in months because he’d started avoiding everyone, and he had been whisked straight from the hospital in London to here.

It was hard to say how it all started, in many ways it was all of bit of a blur. He’d been trying to explain it to the therapists, to the nurses, to the doctors, for the past couple of weeks. And while parts of it were clear, others weren’t so much. It also meant talking about a lot of things he had never wanted to think about again. The eating part was easy, surprisingly. It was as though once he was away from the bullshit of his life, and once people were telling him it was okay, he could do it. Sure it made his stomach hurt, and sometimes afterwards he would wish he hadn’t, but he did it, because he could understand it was going to help him. The eating he could do; the talking was a different story.

“Charles?” he turned when he heard the nurse calling his name. He hoped she wasn’t telling him that he had to go to some stupid group therapy session, or have another blood test or bone scan.

“Yes?” he said, struggling to manoeuvre himself on the crutches he still wasn’t used to.

“You have a visitor.”

Charles was surprised, he knew that he was allowed to have visitors now that he had been there for a fortnight, but his brother had agreed when he’d dropped him off that he wouldn’t visit until Charles asked him to. And he wanted to spare his mother and his little brother the pain of seeing him like this, which meant avoiding them for a little while longer.

That meant it could only really be one person.

“Okay,” he said, not really moving from the window, just swaying precariously as he waited. He was oddly nervous. He really wanted to see Mick, he really wanted that slice of his life from the outside world. But he knew there were so many things they had to talk about, mostly things Charles had to tell Mick. And he was scared of having to sit there while Mick apologised to him again.

He saw Mick’s blond head of hair appear first as the nurse held the door open for him, he was turned away from the direction he was walking in, taking in his surroundings. Charles was glad, it meant he could take in how he felt about his sudden appearance. His heart rate picked up a little, but not necessarily in a bad way. It almost felt like how he had reacted when he had first started dating Mick, all giddy and excited. There was a lot of apprehension there too. But he was relieved to feel the smile break across his face when Mick turned round and made eye contact with him.

He hovered awkwardly in the doorway for a second as the door swung shut behind him. Charles could see his eyes glancing around the room, looking equally intimidated and impressed.

“Hi,” Charles said, taking a of couple wobbly steps towards Mick.

“Hey,” Mick said, looking down at Charles’ ankle which was wrapped in a thick bandage, his expression made it look as though he had forgotten about his broken bone. Charles wouldn’t blame him, it was background noise compared to everything else.

“Y-you…how are you doing?” Mick eventually settled on asking, and Charles half wished he didn’t look so unsure. But he understood why he was.

“Better,” Charles replied, “Do you mind if we sit down?”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Mick said, helping Charles sit down on one side of the plush sofas in his room.

“It’s really fancy here.”

Charles nodded, looking at the leathers armchairs, and the fur rugs, and thinking of the mahogany dining table and chairs in the other room. It was all more extravagant than anywhere he’d ever lived before. He might enjoy it if he was there for a different reason. The expensive looking apartment was supposed to make him feel at home, to help his recovery, but the alien environment was hard to get used to.

“Yeah. It has a price tag to match,” Charles said, stretching his injured foot out to rest it on the coffee table.

“Do I dare ask how much?” Mick asked, with that wry and cheeky expression Charles had grown to love so much. It was a glimmer of the way things used to be between them and it made Charles’ heart feel a little lighter.

“You don’t want to know,” Charles said with a little laugh.

Mick grinned back at him, and that seemed to give him the courage to reach out and gently take hold of Charles’ hand.

“It really is good to see you,” he said, squeezing Charles’ hand.

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Mick seemed like he hadn’t been expecting to hear that, like Charles would ask him to leave. Despite everything that had happened, asking Mick to go was still the last thing Charles would do.

“How is it here?” he asked, still keeping a hold of his hand.

“Weird. But, it’s helping. It helps to have people around who know what they’re talking about.”

“How long will you have to stay?”

“Depends how I do. They’re saying ten weeks, maybe twelve at the moment. Could be less. It’s too soon to tell, I haven’t started gaining much weight back yet.”

Mick nodded, but Charles knew what was really on his mind.

“I’m ready to talk now. I know I promised I would. It’s been unfair of me to keep you in the dark for so long.”

“No, no. You don’t owe me anything,” Mick shook his head.

“You were there though. It can’t have been nice for you, to not know what was going on, to see me…like that.”

Mick nodded again, gripping Charles’ hand a little tighter.

He took a deep breath and he told him everything.

***

When Charles had set out on his current path, he’d had no idea where it would take him. When he was eighteen, fresh out of high school, bruised from the death of his father, feeling confused and burdened about where his life was supposed to go next, he had been all too happy to listen to someone telling him he had a gift he could put to good use. Selfishly, maybe it had been the money it had drawn him in, when he’d first been approached by a scout on La Croisette, taking his mother for a weekend away in Cannes. Modelling made him think of expensive clothes, and private jets, and hefty pay cheques, and while the material things didn’t particularly interest him, his heart jumped at the thought that this was how he could finance his family. His older brother’s job could keep him living comfortably, but it was a stretch to support four of them. He said yes, he didn’t know what he had to lose.

As it turned out, the scout had known what he was talking about. It was difficult at first, doing a lot of work for free, when Charles was pretty sure he should be getting paid. It was fittings in questionable environments, and meetings with people he wasn’t sure he’d like to meet again. But it started to pay off eventually. It made him feel useful to be able to pay a large chunk of their monthly rent; even though he was rarely home, usually off somewhere in France or Italy.

He imagined the glamour would come into the equation soon, when he started to book bigger jobs, when people started to know his name. And maybe he was right in some respects, but he wouldn’t have said it got better.

***

He remembered the first time someone made a pass at him at work. It had been just after he’d met Mick for the first time, so he was young and naïve, and he didn’t know how to react when one of the stylists was in the process of dressing him, and seemed to decide that was the perfect time to flirt with him. He had long forgotten what they said to him, but the memory made his skin crawl. He had felt vulnerable and exposed, and not for the last time.

Charles didn’t think he was allowed to react angrily. He had learnt pretty quickly that models sat somewhere near the bottom of the food chain, not much more than a live mannequin for people to dress up. So he just stood there, and when the stylist had realised he wasn’t going to do anything, she’d just laughed, and told him to lighten up.

One of the other models stood near him had approached after she’d walked off.

“You can tell them to fuck off, you know?” he said, his breath smelling too strongly of peppermint.

Charles had just stared back, still evidently in shock.

“You gotta get used to it, it happens to all of us. But you gotta learn to fight back, or they’ll walk all over you,” he said, giving him a very knowing look.

Somehow Charles didn’t think he’d ever have the balls to say anything. After all, some crude comment was essentially harmless. It couldn’t hurt him. Until it could.

***

The first comment about his appearance came not long after. It was going to be the first fashion week where he might do a show in front of twenty-five people, and his agency had been nagging him almost constantly about how important it was. Eventually his agent got to the point.

“It wouldn’t do you any harm to lose a couple of pounds,” she said during one of their meetings at a café down the street from their agency building.

Charles almost choked on his coffee.

“What?” he asked, sure he must have misheard her. He had always considered himself fairly slim, he watched what he ate and he went to the gym enough. No one had ever commented on his weight before, at least not in the way she was.

“When you’re going to those castings and fittings, the clothes are going to be pretty small. It’s your job to make sure they fit. I’d hate for you not to get a job just because you couldn’t squeeze into a pair of jeans or something,” she explained. And when she said it that way, it did make sense. He didn’t miss the way her eyes flicked down to the croque monsieur on his plate, and Charles got the impression that she was telling him his order was wrong.

“Okay. Yeah I can do that,” he said, shrugging. It wouldn’t hurt him to hit the gym a couple more times a week, and maybe just eat a few more salads. He was sure he could lose a few pounds without troubling himself too much.

“Besides, after fashion week you can put on a bit more weight and it won’t matter so much,” she said, putting a forkful of omelette in her mouth.

Charles nodded. She was right, it didn’t sound so bad, it was part of the job.

It didn’t occur to him then that he would hear those words ever again.

***

After Mick, somehow all the lewd comments and inappropriate stares got worse. Perhaps not because they had increased or intensified, but because he knew what the other side of the coin looked like. He was only dating Mick, it was nothing serious, but he was kind, and he was considerate, and he looked at Charles like he was the only guy in the whole world. And no one had ever looked at him like that before.

And Charles was more than used to people looking at him.

But those were stares. Looks that told him he wasn’t good enough, criticising him without even having to say a word. And there were glances that made him feel like a piece of meat, like he was nothing more than a _thing_ , not someone. They didn’t look at him like Mick did.

It was made so much worse when he had found himself squished into the booth next to two middle aged men, knowing Mick was somewhere else in the club. He had to do this, he had been told to do this. But God he hated listening to them try to chat him up like anything they said would have ever worked in a million years. Charles pretended it did, because he needed something from them too. He tried not to think about Mick, and his warm smile, and he let the man put a hand on his thigh.

“We’d love to have you on board with us. We think you could be a real asset for the brand,” the man said as Charles stood up, finally making the night worthwhile.

“That sound great,” he said, smiling genuinely.

Then he felt the man’s hand on his ass, he didn’t even hear what he said. But for the first time, he felt like he’d sold himself out. And he wasn’t sure whether it was worth it.

***

Charles knew that the way he was treated was nothing special. He wasn’t being singled out or picked on. He didn’t even have it that bad, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He was growing to learn that feeling used and exploited came with the territory, and he wasn’t sure how much he could stomach that. Sometimes he thought he could work harder and get himself out of those situations. But no matter how much he progressed, no matter how much more recognition and fame he got, those kinds of people existed everywhere. And he couldn’t escape them. He worked until he was exhausted and drained, and it didn’t make him happier.

His agent told him again, that another few pounds of fat had to be gotten rid of. Charles didn’t point out that fashion week was long gone, and it was months until the next round of castings and shows. He was thinking it, but he held his tongue. He was determined to show her that he could do it, so he lost twice as much as she asked of him. And for some dark reason, the nod of approval she gave him was validation he needed, and the only sense of self worth he’d felt in a while.

Maybe it gave him something to focus on, something to distract himself with. In the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t good. He knew if he wasn’t careful then it could spiral out of control. But he felt very much in control, in a life where it felt like most of the power had been taken out of his hands.

He learnt to walk the line, giving himself enough to function, but not too much. When he passed out at that photo shoot and had made himself ill, that was a lesson in what taking it too far could look like. So he ate a little more, and exercised a little less. And he found his energy (and the weight) coming back to him. But there was a voice in the back of his head that reminded him that he couldn’t go easy on himself forever.

***

If he had thought that the more successful he became the easier it would get, then Charles was sorely mistaken. He thought fame and notoriety would give him power. But all he got was pressure. Pressure to live up to the last shoot, or ad, or runway show. Charles had faith in his ability to work hard, but he was beginning to doubt how long he could sustain that for before he slipped up and people realised he wasn't as perfect as they thought he was.

Maybe it was all things he was putting on himself. But it was impossible to live with the constant nagging about what he should be doing, what he should be wearing, and who he should be seen with. It was impossible to live with that and feel like he was doing enough.

Not everything about his job was awful, he liked rather a lot about it, or he would never have stuck with it in the first place. There were good people, amazing people even, that he had the privilege to work with. And there were so many opportunities he got handed that Charles knew he would have to be crazy not to feel grateful.

And he had Mick. After he moved in with Charles, he hoped that might help with everything else going on in his life. And it did, to some extent. To fall asleep next to him, and wake up by his side every night and every day wasn’t something he would ever want to give him. He was a calming presence in Charles’ life, and something that could get him through a hard day – something for Charles to focus on, knowing he would be there when he got back. He made his life less lonely, and home finally started to feel like home with Mick around.

But there was the added complication of knowing that he couldn’t tell people about Mick. And that was harder to do when he was right there. Sometimes he was tempted, and he knew Mick would say yes. But every time he got close, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He was scared of dragging Mick into his world, he wanted to keep their relationship as something good, something sacred. And he didn’t want Mick to see how ugly his life really could be when he wasn’t safe within the walls of their little flat. Though the ugliness was already starting to seep through the cracks in the form of sleepless nights, skipped meals, and sneaking a cigarette or two during his ‘lunch’ breaks in an attempt to suppress his appetite.

***

Mick came too close to the truth on a number of occassions. Charles thought he was safe to take him to the store opening. He thought the worst part would be having to pretend they were just friends, to pretend that he wasn’t madly in love with the boy stood next to him.

“I can barely hear myself think with you two chatting away over there! Go wait outside somewhere.”

Charles had flinched as the photographer had shouted at his assistant and Mick. He was stood way too close, the hand on Charles’ shoulder making him feel claustrophobic and smothered. He glanced at Mick, who looked a bit annoyed, but he didn’t complain as he left. Charles watched him as he walked out the door, every bone in his body telling him to say something, to argue, to say that they should stay. But he was used to fighting his instincts when they told him something wasn’t safe.

When the door shut behind them and the photographer turned back to Charles he found himself holding his breath. But he walked backwards to his camera and started working.

Charles let himself relax. He took direction and he did what he did best. It was mindless, and he could switch his brain off for five minutes. He thought he had gotten away with it, and that brief jump of fear was only paranoia.

Until he was told he could leave and as he made his way to the door he felt a large hand on his upper arm.

After it was over he had seconds to try calm himself down – just the time to it took to take a breath and turn the door handle – he had to push away the skin crawling disgust and swallow down the tears that were threatening to come to the surface.

If he looked at all rattled Mick didn’t say so as he led him towards the drinks table where he could throw back a glass of champagne to try to settle his nerves. It took enormous effort to power on and get through the night. It was why it was so easy for him to snap when he sensed Mick’s bad mood.

“You might be desperate to please him but I am not.”

Mick had no idea how deep those words cut. He had no idea how much they reminded Charles of what he had said when he had been undoing his belt, somehow spurred on by how he stood completely still, paralysed.

So he left. Hoping he could find enough alcohol to numb the feeling. Desperately hoping that he might be able to wake up the next morning and forget it had ever happened.

***

It was better for a time. Until Charles found himself sat on the edge of the bath, his feet soaking in hot, soapy water. He winced as he swirled his feet around, feeling the water stinging him when it splashed against the blisters on his toes. He was distracted by the sound of his phone vibrating against the porcelain of the sink. His mood was so foul, he was tempted to ignore it, but he caught sight of the name of his agent on the screen and knew he could scarcely afford to do that.

“Hello?” he said, opting to speak in French even though that wasn’t his agent’s first language. Just because he was aware of Mick moving around in the kitchen, and he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted him to overhear.

He listened patiently as she began rattling off his schedule for New York. Which he already knew because she’d emailed it to him a few days ago. But he let her ramble on. He felt like he should be at least a little bit excited for the two weeks he would spend there. But he was just nervous. It had to go well, and he felt like he had no option for it to go badly. He had been working hard, he had never weighed as little as he did at the moment, and he knew that for a certainty as he’d weighed himself as soon as he got back from his run. His stomach churned as the smells of Mick’s cooking came floating through the open door, but he’d lost the ability to tell whether that was from disgust or hunger anymore.

The only thing she said that caught his attention was when she was telling him the arrangements for a photo shoot he was supposed to be doing for Tommy Hilfiger.

“Who did you say the photographer was?” he asked, getting her to repeat herself. It took him a second to place the name. But then he realised it was the photographer from the store opening.

“No,” he said, interrupting something else she was telling him about a different casting.

“Excuse me?” she sounded rather incredulous, and perhaps a shade of confused.

“No. I-I can’t do that shoot,” he said, suddenly driven by a desperate need to never be in the same room as that man again.

“Are you joking?! Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get this for you?”

Charles just shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but you absolutely cannot turn this down.”

“I can’t, you don’t understand, I just can’t.”

“You’ve picked a shit time to start acting like a diva Charles.”

“It’s not that-,”

“Then what is it?!”

“I…I can’t do that job.”

He heard her groan in frustration.

“Look, you’re doing it. Or you can call them and let them know that you’ve decided that you don’t want to do it anymore. Because I certainly won’t do that.”

“But-,”

“No buts! Stop acting like a child.”

“Fine!”

She paused for a second.

“You’ll be there?”

“I’ll be there.”

The next thing he heard was the dial tone to let him know that she had hung up the phone. Forgetting all about handling technology carefully, he slammed his phone back down on the sink and buried his face in his hands. He scrunched his eyes shut and desperately tried not to imagine having to come face to face with that man again. It took a few deep breaths for him to get himself off the edge of a complete breakdown.

He heard a cough, and looked up to see Mick standing in the doorway. Looking at him made it possible to breathe easier.

***

Charles tried, but he couldn’t prepare himself for New York. When he wasn’t rushed off his feet with work, he was lying awake in his hotel bed, dreading what was the come, wishing more than anything that he was back in Paris and Mick was beside him. Even on the nights when he couldn’t sleep – and he had his fair share of those – he could look down at Mick sleeping beside him and at least he felt safe. The hotel room he was staying in was nice enough, but it was unfamiliar and impersonal, and Charles was homesick.

But he was right to be worried. When he showed up to set, and the photographer saw him, Charles wanted to do nothing more than turn around and march straight out the door. But he couldn’t let people down, and he couldn’t make a scene like that.

Instead he refused to look him in the eye, and instead started introducing himself to the other people in the room. Trying every distraction and calming technique he’d taught himself, Charles methodically got changed into the clothes that were laid out for him, he made polite conversation with the makeup artist and feigned interest in the anecdote the hair stylist told him about her niece. Until he couldn’t avoid it any longer, Charles did not make eye contact. As he walked onto set he kept his back turned, facing the blank canvas that would act as the backdrop. Usually when he was on set he felt the inhibitions and anxieties get lost somewhere along the way, but now he was hyper aware of the pair of eyes that bore into his back.

“I’d like a closed set please. Could everyone just wait outside?” Charles’ heart stopped when he heard those words. If he’d had any stupid hopes that maybe this wouldn’t be a repeat of the store opening, then they were all gone.

He closed his eyes and listened as everyone made their way out of the room. And he only opened them when the room had fallen silent, the last sound left in the room was his quickened breaths. Knowing that he had to, he turned around the see the man smiling at him. Charles did not smile back.

For about five minutes things were okay, but there was a tension in the air, Charles wasn’t letting down his guard, and he wasn’t giving him a single opportunity to say or do anything he really shouldn’t. Charles could feel himself shaking, so wired up, waiting for something to happen.

It seemed he couldn’t wait for too long.

“Could you change into the blue jumper?” he eventually said, placing the camera down on a table, pretending to be studying the monitor.

There was a burst of panic in Charles’ chest, as he tried to think of a way out of this.

“S-should I get one of the stylists?” he said, desperate not to be left alone in that situation.

“What? Can’t you get changed on your own?” the man looked up, giving him a withering look. The way he spoke to him sometimes made Charles feel as though he disliked him. He supposed what it came down to was the fact that he had no respect for him or his dignity. Charles wasn’t an equal in his eyes, that’s why he felt like he could do what he wanted.

He tried to pull off the white t-shirt and put on the jumper as quickly as possible, but he could hear the footsteps approaching behind him. When he’d think back to that day in the future, Charles would hate himself for not being faster.

“I think I like you better like this actually,” he whispered, his mouth too close to Charles’ ear, his hot breath making him shudder and try to twist away.

Charles tried to empty his mind, to shut his eyes and ignore the hands that touched him, and the chapped lips that were pressed against his own. It wasn’t just fear that stopped him from doing anything, it was years of being told that these things just happened, that you just had to grin and bear it.

“Open your eyes and look at me,” the man growled, his fingers tight as he grabbed Charles’ chin. He forced himself to stare back into the cold, blue irises. There was a horrible moment where the colour reminded Charles of Mick, and the contrast in the way he looked at him, compared to the predatory glare made him feel dizzy with nausea.

And something snapped inside him.

Moving with the kind of survival instinct that had abandoned Charles before, he kicked out, his knee making contact with the man’s sharp hip. It wasn’t a hard hit, but once he let go of Charles that gave him the space to swing with a curled fist.

He was sure the punch hurt himself more than the man – the incessant weight loss and exhausted existence had stolen all the power from his limbs – but it got the message across. He didn’t care what he did now, he didn’t care if he hurt him even more than he already had. At least now he could say that he’d fought back.

The man held him by his bare shoulders, and shoved him against the nearest wall, the rough brickwork grazing his exposed skin. Charles barely felt it. He struggled, and tried to kick him again, but he was stood too far away. Instead he spat, and watched with vicious delight at the look of revulsion that spread across the man’s face.

 _That’s it_ , he thought, _look at me and feel disgusted that you could ever want me at all._

“You should have just shut up and taken it,” he said, letting go of Charles to wipe his spit off his face.

Charles used the opportunity to shake himself from his grip, knowing that there was no chance he was staying now. He grabbed the jumper he was supposed to put on, and his bag from the table and he stormed out of the room, past the looks and stares of everyone waiting outside. He couldn’t have cared less if they thought he was crazy. He didn’t care that he’d lost a job he probably needed. He didn’t care about an awful lot in that moment. Even though he knew the next day he would wake up and the anger, and the sadness, and the hurt, and the humiliation would suffocate him until he felt like he'd forgotten how to breathe.

He wanted to escape from that moment for as long as he could.

It was why he said yes when Pierre asked him if he wanted to go out that night. He never usually would have agreed, but getting drunk off his face sounded exactly like what he needed.

But he didn’t feel happy, not when he was trapped in a pulsing crowd of dancing bodies, the strobe lights hurting his head, looking around at the people he was with and realising that they weren’t his friends. They didn’t care about what happened to him. If he told them what had happened to him that day, he doubted they would have so much have batted an eyelid. Would his agent? He didn’t think he’d find sympathy from the woman who only ever seemed to tell him he was fat, or not muscular enough, or too short, or too forgettable. He wasn’t enough to any of those people. He was nothing, and he felt like nothing.

Stumbling into the grimy bathroom, he didn’t even bother to lock the cubicle door as he knelt by the toilet and felt the vodka, and whiskey, and gin and god knows what else force everything from his stomach. He kept going until he wasn’t even sure if he needed to be sick anymore, or whether he was just chasing that empty feeling. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, and used some of the water from the tap to rinse his mouth out.

He needed fresh air. His body felt numb and he couldn’t walk in a straight line, but somehow he had the coordination to pull his phone from his back pocket and dial a very familiar number.

***

After that it became an attempt to do whatever he could to just survive the next few weeks. His body and his mind railed against everything he was putting it through, but he didn’t know what to do if he didn’t keep going. He was scared he would stop, and that would be it.

He ate less and less, not just because becoming smaller and smaller had become one of the few ways he knew how to measure his own self worth. But because at least that gave him something to focus on; feeling drained no matter how much sleep he got, and freezing no matter how many scarves he wore, and terrified because his nails were brittle and his hair was getting thin, at least they were things he could feel. Strong enough sensations and emotions to drown out everything else he could be feeling otherwise. It was the worst kind of coping mechanism, because it he was watching himself waste away in front of his very eyes. Sometimes standing in front of the mirror and seeing that scared him to death, sometimes he didn’t mind the idea of slowly disappearing.

It didn’t get better when he returned to Paris. It hurt to see Mick look at him with such tender pity in his eyes. It made him feel fragile and weak, all the kinds of feelings he had been trying to numb himself from. He knew Mick would ask questions he couldn’t answer. The kinds of questions that would involve him confronting memories and emotions he wasn’t sure his body could physically handle.

So he avoided him. And when Mick pushed, he did the cowardly thing and ran.

He travelled round Europe from one job to another, in a kind of haze. It was mornings of waking up on his bathroom floor not sure how he got there, and nights spent eating until he was in agony because he starved body was screaming out for just something, and he would have to vomit until he passed out. He jumped from hotel to hotel, completely alone, isolating himself from anyone who might have given a damn about him. He ignored the calls and the texts and the emails.

He ran and hid until he couldn’t anymore, and he felt the bone in his left leg crack.

***

Charles didn’t know how long he talked for, but when he finished the tear tracks on Mick’s face were matched by ones on his own. There was a sharp stab of guilt in his stomach, and he felt terrible at having upset him. But he reminded himself that this was always going to happen. Because Mick loved him, so Charles’ pain was his too.

“Charles I’m so…” he said, his voice stuffy and wobbly.

“Please don’t apologise,” Charles said quietly, “There are a lot of people I could blame. But you’re not one of them. There’s nothing more you could have done, I didn’t let you. And there were times Mick where I didn’t think I had anything good left, and I’d see you and I’d remember that I had at least one thing.”

His words triggered a fresh wave of tears in Mick, and Charles leaned forward so he could wrap his arms around his shoulders.

“I shouldn’t be crying,” Mick said, shaking his head and almost laughing at himself.

“It’s okay.”

Charles felt Mick pull back slightly, so he could look Charles in the eye. He had a look on his face like he was going to say something. But having him so close, and feeling hopeful in a way he hadn’t in months, Charles curled his hand around the back of his neck and kissed him.

It was a kiss that tasted of salt from their tears, but it made Charles feel electric, like things were suddenly possible again. Mick had always made him feel kind of like that, like the world was a slightly more exciting place than it had been before he walked into the room.

“I love you,” Mick whispered against his lips.

“I love you too.”


	20. xx.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally finished!! and this is officially the longest single piece of work i've ever written so that's nice :)
> 
> thank you to everyone who read and commented on this work :)

Mick stood nervously, a little way back from the three other people he was waiting with, giving them the space he felt they deserved. Charles’ mother and youngest brother hadn’t seen him in months, and though Lorenzo had been helping Charles sort things out, he had been pushed away too. Charles had been reluctant to let his family see the ugliness that came with dragging himself through recovery.

Mick only saw him four times in the three months he stayed at the clinic in Switzerland. He knew Charles was torn between wanting him there as often as possible, and knowing that he had to do it on his own. He could see him getting better, but Mick could also see that the scars of everything that had happened to him were going to take a lot longer than three months to heal.

“There he is!” Mick’s head snapped up from where he had been staring at the floor as he heard Arthur shout excitedly.

He looked to see where his hand was pointing, and spotted Charles’ brown head of hair weaving its way through the crowd. Mick felt his heart jump, though he couldn’t tell if the anticipation he felt was from anxiety or a desperate desire to see him. He still hung back, shuffling on the balls of his feet as Arthur practically skipped towards his brother.

Mick felt a wave of relief rush through him as Charles’ smiling face came into view. There was a lightness about him that hadn’t been there before, even since the last time Mick had seen him. Maybe it was the effect of seeing his family. But it felt deeper than that. Mick knew there was a smile growing across his own face, small and shy, as he took in the way his cheeks had filled out a little more, and how it was nearly impossible to detect the slight limp he still walked with.

He watched Charles embrace his little brother before looking up at the rest of his welcome party. Mick still stayed a few steps behind the family reunion, watching as Charles’ mother took his face in her hands to get a closer look at him, and Lorenzo ruffled his hair before taking his suitcase from him. Finally, Charles caught Mick’s eye and his expression softened, he looked tired but happier for being around familiar faces.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said as he extracted himself from his mother’s embrace, and took a few slow steps towards Mick.

“Of course I was gonna be here,” Mick smiled burying his face against Charles’ shoulder as he wrapped his arms around him.

They spent the ride home squished in the back seat of Lorenzo’s car, the conversation switching from Arthur excitedly retelling a tale of how he’d scored the winning goal for his school’s football team to Charles’ mother bombarding him with questions about medication, and doctor’s appointments, and meal plans. It was jarring; familial and foreign all at once. Mick let the words float into his head through his ears, but he took very little notice of them. He just interlaced his fingers with Charles’ and held on tight, a little afraid that he might disappear if Mick wasn’t touching him.

Lorenzo dropped the two of them off at Charles’ apartment, with Charles promising they’d be back for dinner and he’d tell his mum everything she had to know then. They entered the small flat in silence, neither of them having said more than two sentences to each other since Charles had got back. But the silence wasn’t uneasy, like it had been before. There was nothing unspoken lying heavy between them, not anymore.

Mick took his coat off, and turned to see Charles had left his suitcase in the hallway, and was opening the balcony windows so he could look out over the beach and the Mediterranean Sea beyond that. He leant his head against the door frame and Mick watched his turned back for a few moments before he walked over to join him.

“Missed it?”

Charles glanced sideways at him with a smile.

“Yeah. Switzerland is pretty and all, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not Monaco.”

“I’ll accept the slight on my home because you’re biased,” Mick said, wrapping his arm around Charles’ waist.

Charles chuckled lightly and Mick could feel his own heart soar at that sound he had missed so much.

“I don’t want to be overbearing or anything, but how are you doing?” Mick asked after a few more seconds of silence.

“Okay. I’m tired, my ankle’s a bit sore. But I’m good. I’m better,” Charles said, “How long are you staying for?”

“As long as you want.”

“Don’t you have a job to return to?”

“Nah, I quit.”

Charles whipped his head round to look at Mick.

“What? Why?! You liked that job!”

Mick chuckled.

“Let’s sit down, then I’ll explain.”

Perhaps a little unnecessarily, Mick helped Charles sit down on the little sofa, his legs stretched across Mick’s lap. Charles was watching him with a curious expression, like he was trying to work out why he would do something that made so little sense to him.

“I’ve decided to just work freelance, René said he’d help me set up everything, and help with the financial side of things. It means I’ll probably travel more for work, but I can decide what jobs I want to take and which I don’t. So I can be here if you need me.”

“Mick I-,”

“And I don’t want you to feel guilty or feel like I’m giving things up for you. This was always my plan, I’ve just skipped ahead a few steps, and maybe it’ll be a little difficult at first, but that’s fine. But you are one of my priorities, and that’s not gonna change. You shouldn’t have to do this on your own, and I’m not gonna let you.”

Charles sighed, used to Mick’s stubbornness, but he still looked like he wanted to argue.

“I’ve thought about it plenty don’t worry,” Mick said, trailing his fingers up Charles’ jean clad leg, “I don’t know what you’re planning on doing, but at least this way I can be with you.”

“I haven’t really thought about what I want to do,” Charles said, resting his hand on his cheek.

“Do you want to go back to work?”

“I…” Charles looked up at Mick, worrying his lips together, “Is it bad if I say no?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“I just don’t think I can do it – get better I mean – if I’m still in that world. Maybe it’s a stupid decision, it’s the only job I’ve ever had. Part of me wants to, but I know I shouldn’t.”

“I think that’s a very brave and mature decision,” Mick said, unable to hide the pride from his voice. Charles blushed a little, before he swung his legs off Mick and stood up.

“I haven’t decided entirely, but I guess I’ll talk with my mum too. I should probably unpack before we go to dinner.”

“Do you want some help?”

Charles nodded and the two of them set about restoring Charles and his things to his home. Mick had always privately preferred the Monaco apartment to their one in Paris, and with Charles’ clothes hanging next to his, and his shoes by the door, he decided he was right to think that.

When they were sat round the dinner table at Charles’ mother’s flat it was easy to believe that the past half a year hadn’t happened at all. Mick knew that it wouldn’t all be as perfect as that evening, but it felt fair that Charles should get a good welcome home.

At some point Mick got drawn into a game of FIFA with Arthur, which resulted in him losing match after match until eventually he had to concede defeat and suggest that he found a different game. While he rifled through the cabinet beneath the TV, Mick turned to look at where the Charles, Lorenzo and his mother were all sat out on the balcony, the setting sun making it impossible to make out anything other than their silhouettes. He could see Charles gesticulating as he spoke, holding his hands out, palms facing the sky, and Mick wondered what he was telling them. Mick watched as his mother placed her hand in his, so she could pull him forward for a hug, planting a kiss on the top of his head.

“Is he going to be okay?” Mick heard a small voice pipe up, and he looked down to see Arthur sat on the floor by his feet, watching Mick watch his family. His young face was schooled into an anxious expression, and he looked so much like Charles that Mick was struck by a burning feeling of protectiveness.

“Yeah, yeah I think so,” he said, nodding as confidently as he could.

“I missed him.”

“Me too.”

They let the moment linger for a second, both of them united in their love for the person they watched. Eventually Arthur sighed and held up the two games he was holding in his hands.

“Do you think you’ll suck less at either of these?”

Later that night Charles told Mick that he had told his brother and mother everything, starting at the beginning and filling them in on all the information he had denied them in the meantime.

“I’m not sure they understand why I didn’t quit sooner, or why I did some of the things I did,” Charles said, spitting his mouth full of toothpaste into the sink and washing it away with the stream of water from the tap.

“They’re not going to understand everything,” Mick said, running his hands along Charles’ shoulders, just relishing in the feeling of having him beneath his hands again.

“Yeah I know,” Charles said wiping his mouth clean, “They’re going to help me though. Lorenzo said he’d drive me to my appointment with the doctor in Nice tomorrow. And _maman_ said she didn’t mind me staying at hers if you’re not here, so I can eat and stuff.”

Mick nodded, Charles having already told him that he wasn’t supposed to eat his meals alone, or plate them up himself. Charles admitted that it made him feel babied, but he also didn’t trust himself yet either.

“They agreed with me about quitting, they think it’s a good idea,” Charles said, turning round to face Mick instead, rather than communicating with his reflection in the mirror.

“I do too,” Mick confessed, it wasn’t his choice in the end. But if he could hide Charles away from that world, then he’d stand between him and everything that hurt him.

“I don’t know what else I’m going to do.”

“You have plenty of time to think about that.”

“I’m running out of savings.”

“I’ll still have money coming in.”

“I can’t let you pay for everything.”

“Well we can sell the Paris apartment if you want.”

“Yeah, and maybe all of the clothes I’ve got hidden away in it,” Charles snorted, thinking of the overflowing wardrobes and drawers.

“See, we’ll be fine,” Mick smiled, leaning his cheek against Charles’ chest, enjoying the warmth coming from his body, so unlike how cold he had been before.

“Let’s go to bed,” Charles whispered.

Mick pulled Charles under the covers, but not before he tugged at the belt of his bathrobe, his breath hitching in his throat like it was the first time he’d seen him naked. He let his hands wander across his pale skin, his lips and fingers exploring the planes of his body, drinking in the taste and feel of him, trying to commit to memory the shape of his chest and limbs, should they ever be separated again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, looking up from where his face rested on his thigh.

“Still?” Charles asked, biting on the inside of his cheek, aware that the physical evidence of what he had done to himself still remained.

“Always,” Mick replied, pressing a kiss to his hipbone.

He was aware he was being careful and gentle with him, maybe too much so, but Charles didn’t seem to mind the delicate touches and the fact that Mick was holding him like he was made of glass. Mick was determined to make that night feel as though it would last forever, and to let Charles feel the full depth of his feelings for him. He hoped he did.

***

“Charles?” Mick called out, noisily pulling his suitcase through the door behind him. He didn’t even bother taking off his coat or shoes before he walked into the kitchen where he knew he would probably find his boyfriend.

“I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow,” Charles said, the familiar dimples forming on his cheeks as he grinned at Mick, looking up from the sheets of paper he had spread across the table, the pencil still held aloft in his hand.

“Yeah. The shoot ended a day early, so I changed my flight,” Mick said, pulling out the chair next to Charles so he could sit down. He chuckled as Charles leaned over a pressed a series of wet kisses to his cheek.

“This looks good,” he said, admiring the diagrams and plans Charles had laid out before him.

“You think so? I have to hand it in on Friday and I’m scared I’m not gonna finish on time.”

“I don’t know much about architecture but I think so, yes.”

Charles was just over a year into his architecture degree, and Mick loved to see the careful attention and thought he poured over his work. He liked that while he took it incredibly seriously, he got the sense that when he worked he could distract himself from anything else going on in his head, and focus on something other than himself. It helped that he wasn’t half bad at it either. Charles told him that while he’d got a taste for beautiful things while he’d modelled, he liked to remove people from the equation, he liked if his work could have nothing to do with him.

After his decision to quit modelling, Charles had tried to remove all vestiges of celebrity from his life, though it wasn’t quite as easy as deciding he didn’t want to be famous anymore. People still recognised him, they knew his name and his face, he had to accept that there would always be someone out there who had an interest in him. He just stopped putting himself out there.

Even after his left his agency and he officially ‘retired’ offers still came pouring in, for just one more campaign, or one more show. And Mick could see that Charles was tempted. But he had also told him that if he did one thing, then he was afraid it would lead to one more job, and then another, and then another, and then Charles would be sucked right back in again. Charles wasn’t sure he would survive it all again.

“I was thinking about going to Milan this weekend, you finish for the Christmas break on Friday right?” Mick said, watching Charles twirl the pencil between his fingers.

“I assume you’re inviting me too?” Charles said with a laugh as he looked down at the paper in front of him.

“Yes,” Mick laughed, “I haven’t seen Maxi and Callum in a while, and being in Rome made me miss Italy.”

“Sure. I’d love to. We can drive, it isn’t too far,” Charles looked up, as Mick saw that his eyes had lit up at the thought.

“Good. I’m gonna book us a table at the restaurant we had our first date at,” Mick said, like he had just thought of the idea, though it had been in his head for a very long time indeed.

“God that feels like a lifetime ago,” Charles said, and Mick could see there was a far off look in his eyes.

“It was,” Mick agreed, but he wasn’t thinking about the past, his mind was on the small black velvet box he had hidden away in the bottom of his camera bag. He looked to the future instead.


End file.
